


I Loved The Simple Thought Of You

by queenjameskirk



Series: Model AU [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Model AU, Modern Era, Panic Attacks, Sequel, credence and newt are Bad at communication, mac is back at it again with the menswear and smoking kinks, no magic, there's also smut and i won't apologize for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9467648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenjameskirk/pseuds/queenjameskirk
Summary: "Tina gives them two weeks; fourteen days for Credence to spend in London with Newt. She offers them with a sigh, shooting Newt a tired look. It’s not much time, not nearly enough at all, but it’s time that Newt will take any way he can."In which Credence and Newt are still fashion models who are still bad at communicating, only this time they're in London.





	1. if you were here beside me

**Author's Note:**

> hooo boy you guys! this fic kicked my ASS but it's finally done and i'm so excited to share it with you!! i've been working on it pretty steadily for the last two weeks and my goodness it definitely got Out Of Hand. 
> 
> this entire fic is dedicated to the many people who helped me along the way: zin, for letting me complain to you at all hours of the night! eli, for screaming about these boys with me and also for making me the most beautiful fanart in all the world! and the entire credence barebone protection squad, for motivating me and being literally TOO KIND!! i know i'm forgetting people but oh boy i love you all!!! thanks for believing in me!!!
> 
> now that that's out of the way, i present to you Model AU 2: Electric Boogaloo!! i hope you enjoy!!!

Tina gives them two weeks; fourteen days for Credence to spend in London with Newt. She offers them with a sigh, shooting Newt a tired look. It’s not much time, not nearly enough at all, but it’s time that Newt will take any way he can.

“I don’t normally grant vacation to employees who have only been working with me for a month,” she says. Newt shoots her a smile and he sees her fake exasperation falter.

“He’ll still be working, Tina,” Newt reminds her, pointing down at the calendar on her desk. She’s mapped out days of shoots with England-based designers, spreading the Aurora Agency’s name among all of London. Names familiar and unfamiliar to Newt line the page, small-time artists who trust Tina to send them talent and big corporations looking for a fast-fashion model. It’s a decent amount of work, and Newt knows Credence will be grateful to Tina for getting him so many jobs.

“If he isn’t back in two weeks, I’m coming to England myself to get him,” Tina says cooly. Newt isn’t afraid of her.

“Have I ever mentioned how much I appreciate you?” he asks and Tina laughs.

“It wouldn’t hurt to say it again,” she responds. Newt leans over and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. 

“Thank you, Tina Goldstein,” Newt says. “For all you’ve done for Credence and I,” his voice is earnest and Tina frowns a bit, eyebrows drawn together. 

“You both deserve it,” she insists, standing from her desk. She smiles and approaches Newt, arms held out for a hug he happily gives. “Have fun,” she commands into his ear.

He promises her he will and then leaves to pick Credence up for the airport. 

Credence has never rode on an airplane before. He whispers this to Newt as they’re boarding, trailing a small blue suitcase behind him. He looks scared, wide eyes scanning the rows of people as they move through the aisle. When they sit down at their seats in business class, he reaches over and grabs Newt’s hand tightly. His palms are sweaty and they slide against Newt’s own unpleasantly.

“Would you like a drink? Some water might make you feel better,” Newt says, leaning down to dig a water bottle out of his carry-on. As someone who also gets nervous on crowded planes, Newt has tried every remedy he can find in order to calm himself down. But Credence shakes his head and leans over to rest his head on Newt’s shoulder.

“Maybe just talk to me,” he says and then huffs out a laugh, “Your voice always puts me to sleep,”

“Hey, now,” Newt responds, chuckling. “Alright, what would you like me to talk about?” Credence hums before responding. He plays with Newt’s fingers, spreading them apart before entangling them with his own again.

“Tell me about London,” he requests and Newt is happy to provide. He regales Credence with tales about the busy streets and thousands of pubs. He tells stories of the London Zoo, with its colorful birds and its rooms full of reptiles, and talks about the shows he’s seen on the West End. By the time the seatbelt sign has gone off and they’re at cruising altitude, Credence is asleep on Newt’s shoulder. Newt’s own anxiety had abated some time during his many ramblings and he finds the butterflies in his stomach are from love rather than fear.

He turns and presses a kiss at the edge of Credence’s hairline, next to his eyebrow, and then leans his head back to catch a few hours of sleep himself. He drifts off with his hand still held in Credence’s. 

…

 

Being home is strange. His apartment is exactly how he’d left it, uncharacteristically clean and orderly. There are no books or pens spilled on the coffee table, no dishes piled in the sink. His bed is made, blue sheets tucked into tight corners. Before he’d left for New York city, he had tided up his usually messy space. There are still a few spots of disorder; a coffee cup forgotten on the kitchen island and books stacked on his nightstand. 

It doesn’t much feel like home anymore. Instead, he finds hints of home in pale wrists and dark hair, in sunshine and grass, and in the sound of a laugh. 

“This is it,” Newt says to Credence, guiding the boy around his loft and showing him where everything is located. Newt’s home is definitely larger than Credence’s studio apartment back in New York, but the younger man doesn’t look around in jealousy. Instead, Credence marvels at his stainless steel appliances and marble countertops, as if he’s never experienced such wealth before. 

“I love the windows,” Credence says, standing along the far wall that’s made up entirely of room-height glass. He presses a hand to a pane, looking down below to the street. 

“They’re my favorite part too,” Newt smiles, and joins him at the window. London bustles ever presently below, not with the madness of New York, but the aura of age. It’s an old town; full of cobble-brick streets and ancient buildings. London is full of history just waiting to be uncovered.

When he turns to look at Credence, Newt sees that the boy is smiling at him softly. He brushes the man’s shoulder with his own and they leave the windows to finish their tour. Credence’s fingerprints are left on the glass.

They walk a short flight of stairs together up into Newt’s lofted bedroom. Credence snorts when Newt shows him his closet, an impossibly large walk-in area that’s only half full. 

“I figured you’d have a larger wardrobe,” he comments coyly, fingers picking at a cashmere sweater.

“I’m boring,” Newt responds, and Credence’s answering laugh is music. When they get to the bathroom, Newt pauses. He looks over the room and realizes something is missing.

“I’m, um, afraid I only have a shower,” he apologizes, hands in his pockets.

“That’s fine,” Credence says distractedly, looking at the glass square in the corner of the room where a fancy tap showers water down from the ceiling. He examines Newt’s countertop full of disorganized products with an amused grin.

“Are you sure?” Newt asks, “Because I can get a bathtub if you’d like,”

Credence blinks. Newt pushes his hands further into his pants, eyes down towards the white tile floor.

“I don’t think I need a bathtub anymore,” Credence says finally, eyebrows furrowed together. Newt lets out a breath before nodding. 

Newt’s bedroom is different from the rest of the house. Though it’s relatively tidy, it shows Newt’s more distracted side. His desk is completely covered in notebooks and pens, sketchbooks open to pages of creatures and clothes. There’s a large calendar tacked to the wall above that is filled with Newt’s impossible handwriting. It organizes meetings and lunch dates in black ink, cluttering the boxes with notes about people and brands for Newt to study before meeting with them. One wall is completely filled with more bookshelves where anthologies and his favorite fictions are all stacked together haphazardly. The opposite wall has large french doors that open out to a balcony with white curtains that show a faint light illuminating from the city. There’s a shelf next to the doors that is completely full of picture frames.

There are photos of Newt’s family, where he and his brother smile matching grins. There’s one of his mother holding an iguana, dressed in her zoo uniform shorts and khaki button up. His father smiles in another, his arm around Newt following his school graduation. Credence picks up one and spins to look at Newt. He holds out a photo of Theseus and Newt on a red carpet, arms around each other.

“You know Theseus Gray?” he asks, eyes wide. 

“He’s my brother,” Newt chuckles. Theseus had taken a different last name before breaking out in the film industry. _Scamander is too hard to remember,_ his agent had told him. Theseus loves to brag about how Newt had proved that wrong, mainly because Theseus is a menace. His brothers spends his time split between London and LA, acting in summer blockbusters and serious indie films alike. He won an Oscar last year for an independent film he’d been in and Newt cried when Theseus thanked him during his acceptance speech. Newt is very proud of his stupidly famous older brother.

“I need to meet your parents now,” Credence says, laughing. “I have to know the people who managed to create two superstars.” Newt lets out a chuckle too, but it’s sad.

“I’m, ah, afraid you won’t be able to meet Mum,” he says, “She died a few years ago.” Credence freezes. 

“I’m— I’m so sorry,” he sputters, but Newt waves a hand.

“It’s all right,” he assures awkwardly. Credence returns the photo of Theseus to the shelf and Newt watches him reach a careful finger out to brush against the edge of the frame on the picture of his mother.

“She was beautiful,” he says. 

“I think so, too,” Newt responds back. Credence moves to Newt’s side and grabs his hand. He brings it up to his mouth and kisses the back of Newt’s hand lightly. There’s a lump in Newt’s throat that burns when he swallows. They stand in each other’s space for a moment more before Newt moves away.

“Dinner, then?” he asks, looking just over Credence’s shoulder. “I don’t have any groceries, but if you’re amendable I’d love to take you to my favorite restaurant.” There’s movement out of the corner of his eye as Credence nods slowly.

They take time to shower, washing the smell of airplane off themselves, and Newt lets Credence pick his way through his own closet to find something nice to wear. When he emerges from the bathroom, he’s dressed in one of Newt’s personal favorite jackets. It’s a deep purple with black along the lapel and the shoulders are a little wide for Credence, but he wears it with confidence anyway. Newt’s slacks are a touch small on him, hugging his thighs. His hair is slightly damp where it curls around his jaw. 

Newt is speechless when Credence smiles shyly at him. He can barely believe the man’s here, in Newt’s apartment and dressed in his clothes. When Newt looks down, Credence’s bare toes curl along the tiled floor. He’s silent for too long.

“Is this not okay?” Credence asks worriedly, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

“No, no, it’s perfect, it’s really… wow,” Newt stutters, blinking rapidly. Credence blushes a light pink at the tops of his cheeks and looks down. Newt had hoped his awkwardness around the boy would abate when he and Credence were finally together, but it seems that hope was moot. They’re silent again.

“So,” Credence starts and Newt looks up. “Should we be going?”

“Ah, yes of course,” Newt says quickly, pushing himself into motion. He gathers up his wallet and keys as Credence slides his feet into a pair of boots. Newt turns off the lights around the house and they go out into the night.

When they get home, they’re a little drunk off wine that makes them giggle as they kiss against the front door. Newt takes great pleasure in undressing Credence out of his own clothes, sliding the purple jacket off and working his pants down over the curve of his ass. 

Their first night in London is perfect.

 

The next day, Credence has a shoot. He departs early in the morning and leaves a cup of perfectly fixed tea on Newt’s bedside table. It’s still warm when Newt wakes, but there’s a dull coldness in his bed nonetheless. He takes a careful sip of Earl Grey, letting its warmth spread through his bones, and then sets it back down. He rubs at his eyes, willing away sleepiness.

His phone buzzes on his nightstand, vibrating the tea in its mug, and Newt reaches for it. 

“Hello?” he greets, voice hoarse from sleep. He fights back a yawn.

“Good morning, Scamander,” Albus Dumbledore responds, and Newt smiles to himself.

“Good morning to you too, Albus,” he says and Albus makes a tutting sound on the other line. 

“If you could find it in you to wander down to my office at some point today, I’d like to meet with you,” Albus says. “I have your prints from New York in front of me now and it seems there are some things we need to discuss.”

His tone is light, but it still brings a slight panic to Newt’s heart. He wonders if Tina has sent Albus the pictures of his final shoot, perhaps a snapped photo of him and Credence… kissing.

“I’ll be down soon,” Newt promises and Albus hums before hanging up on him. He lays back in bed and wonders just when his life became this ridiculous. 

Albus Dumbledore’s office is at the top floor of a tall building in downtown London. It is completely covered in portraits, old styled frames that house pictures of kings and queens. The largest portrait is of a mythological looking gargoyle that watches down over the room with furrowed eyebrows. The office is absolutely regal, with an electric fireplace in one corner that heats the entire room. The furniture is claw-footed and the chairs are trimmed with gold. He has cabinets lined along one wall that are full of peculiar things; candles and sculptures and brassy things that catch the light. 

He has more than one desk, and the one in the middle of the room is covered in pictures of Newt. When he walks forward to look at them, he catches a glimpse of dark hair. Yes, there is in fact of picture of him and Credence. The boy is straddling Newt on the chaise lounge, but they aren’t kissing. Instead, their foreheads rest together. Newt’s eyes are locked with Credence’s and there’s a dazed smile on his face. Credence is grinning as well, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It’s an intimate moment captured forever.

“I suppose a congratulations is in order,” Dumbledore says from behind Newt and he startles. When he turns, he can’t seem to look his boss in the eye. 

“I hope it isn’t a problem,” he says and Dumbledore laughs.

“On the contrary,” Albus says and walks around Newt to peer down at the table. He plucks up another photo from that last shoot: the one where Newt is smiling at Credence sitting just out of frame. “I rather think it’s a good thing.” 

“Thank you, Albus,” Newt says quietly, staring at the photo and remembering back to that day. Dumbledore speaking breaks him out of his spell.

“I do expect you to introduce me to him, though. I have to meet the man who’s going to steal you away.” 

“He’s not stealing me anywhere,” Newt argues and Dumbledore chuckles again. He returns the photo to the table and moves to rest his hand on Newt’s shoulder.

“I fear he already has.”

They spend the next hour discussing New York and all the shoots Newt did while over there. They talk about the fashion shows and industry parties and Dumbledore blessedly doesn’t ask any questions about Credence. When Newt leaves, he has a half dozen more photoshoots scheduled into his phone calendar and a light heart.

 

…

 

They’ve been in London three days when the doorbell rings. It’s nearly 6pm and Credence had spent the day on the beach modeling for some beachwear company and now he’s in the bathroom attempting to scrub away the sand. Newt stands at the stove, absentmindedly stirring at a pot of soup, staring out the window. The doorbell is insistent, loudly buzzing three times.

He goes to answer it with a heavy stomach, knowing exactly who’s on the other side.

“Little brother!” Theseus Gray greets, leaning against the doorframe with an easy smile. He moves forward to capture Newt in a tight hug, ruffing the shorter man’s hair as he does so. His embrace is warm and grounding, reminding Newt of a childhood spent playing together. Theseus pulls back to hold him at an arm’s length and his green eyes are calculating.

“You’re different,” he says. Newt sighs and looks down, taking in his brother’s casual clothes and running shoes.

“I’m me,” Newt says, shrugging. Theseus snorts and ruffles his hair once again.

“That you are,” he agrees, and steps forward into Newt’s apartment. He makes his way towards the kitchen and plops down on the barstool at the island. “Tell me all about New York,” he commands. He reaches over to pluck an apple from a bowl on the counter and bites into it. Always comfortable, always confident. Newt envies him.

“There isn’t much to tell,” Newt says, continuing over to the stove to finish stirring.

That’s when Credence emerges from the bathroom dressed in a pair of Newt’s sweatpants and an oversized shirt. He’s rubbing at his dripping hair with a towel and stops in his tracks when he spots Theseus. Newt’s brother’s mouth drops open.

“Not much to tell, my ass!” Theseus exclaims dramatically, eyebrows lifted at Newt. Sometimes Newt wonders just when he became so Los Angeles.

“Um, hello,” Credence says awkwardly, angling his shoulders inwards and shrinking back. Newt feels a flush crawling up his neck and onto his face. Credence’s American accent is so obvious when put next to Theseus’s thick English one, and Newt watches with dawning horror as Theseus grins widely. His brother has spotted Newt’s old school t-shirt that hangs off Credence’s shoulders.

“Not what I expected, but I am thrilled nonetheless,” Theseus says, hopping off his barstool and stepping forward to shake Credence’s hand rapidly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Credence and Newt ask at the same time, an echo of irritation.

“Okay, that was adorable,” Theseus says. Newt wants desperately to escape. His brother doesn’t let go of Credence’s hand, gesturing wildly with it caught in his grip. “I meant I didn’t expect you to go to New York for a week and come back with a boyfriend!” He drags Credence into the kitchen and sits him down.

“Theseus,” Newt warns, a twinge of frustration in his tone, but his brother waves a careless hand at him.

“Spill,” Theseus commands, picking up his apple and taking another bite. 

“Uh,” Credence starts, looking at Newt in barely disguised panic. “I’m Credence,” he introduces, brushing his hair behind his ear. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. Theseus’ smile is delighted.

“I’m Theseus,” he says, and Credence huffs out a laugh.

“I know,” he says quietly. Theseus grins a big Hollywood smile at him and winks.

“So, how did you two kids meet, Credence?” Theseus asks, chin in hand. He’s a menace.

“A party,” Newt answers shortly and turns off the stove. Obviously he isn’t escaping this conversation any time soon and he’d rather not burn the apartment down in his distraction.

“I was asking Credence,” Theseus says, offended. Then he laughs, “You went to a party, Newtie?” Newt winces at the nickname. 

“Networking is important, you know that,” Newt says, clearing his throat. He doesn’t mention the hour of ribbing from Tina it had taken to get him to attend. 

“We shared a cigarette on the balcony,” Credence says, a small smile playing on his face. 

“You smoke?” Theseus asks of Newt. A flush rushes up his cheekbones again.

“Occasionally,” he counters stiffly. Credence looks at him questioningly.

“That means he only does it when around you, apparently,” Theseus stage whispers to the dark haired man, a hand at the side of his mouth.

“Then why did you ask me for a cigarette that night?” Credence wonders aloud, dark eyes calculating. 

“I, uh,” Newt says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “I suppose it was just an excuse to talk to you.” Credence flushes and looks down at his hands. He’s smiling though, so Newt counts it as a win.

“Adorable,” Theseus says loudly and Newt winces. 

“Enough, Theseus,” Newt commands tiredly. His brother holds a hand up in surrender and brings one down on Credence’s knee.

“Fine, I’m done,” he says. Newt lets out a breath in relief. Theseus turns to look at Credence. “It is very nice to meet you, Credence,” he says seriously. His eyes scan the other man’s face and he flashes his white teeth. “I think we’re going to be great friends.” His voice is earnest and Newt sees Credence’s shoulders relax minutely. 

“Now,” Theseus says again, all his joking charm back. “I do believe you were making me dinner!”

Newt fixes up soup for the three of them as Theseus tells tall tales of the various sets he’s been on in the past months. There are some stories that Newt has heard multiple times, told to interviewers on the red carpet or big wigs at premiers, but Credence listens wide-eyed to every one. They eat in the living room, Credence with his feet in Newt’s lap and Theseus slurping obnoxiously to coax laughs out of the two of them. When Theseus finally leaves nearing midnight, Newt bids him goodbye with a gracious smile.

“Thanks,” he says without need and Theseus pulls him into another tight hug.

“I wasn’t kidding,” Theseus whispers into his ear. “I think he and I can be friends.”

When he shuts the door, he turns to lean on it for a moment before he follows Credence to bed. He rests his head against the door and really wishes he could call his mother.

Later they’re in bed, Newt’s head resting on Credence’s collarbone while the man runs a careful hand down Newt’s spine. Moonlight shines in through the window and the bustle of London is a calming accompaniment to fall asleep to. 

“I like him,” Credence says suddenly. He’s talking about Theseus of course, and Newt smiles against his chest. His voice is so soft and sad. Sometimes, Newt wonders if he knows Credence Barebone at all. The man is an enigma— a mess of broken past and low self-esteem and above all else, immense talent. He’s a mystery wrapped up in tragic twine and Newt wants to unravel every piece of him.

“Do you have a family, Credence?” Newt ponders, a finger tracing a trail along Credence’s skin. The dark haired man waits a long moment before responding.

“Not really,” he says, and Newt pauses.

“That’s not much of an answer,” he points out, and Credence snorts quietly. 

“I guess not,” he says, and his fingers dance along Newt’s back. He traces words and pictures into Newt’s skin, connecting the freckles with lines that leave shivers on Newt’s skin. He doesn’t offer anything and Newt worries if he’s offended him.

“I’m sorry, I’m bad at this,” Newt says and Credence lets out a small hum of confusion. “Talking, I mean. About feelings.”

“I think you’re just fine. It’s me who has trouble with this sort of thing,” Credence responds quietly. His skin is pale in the moonlight and his chest is hard under Newt’s head. He feels unreal and solid at the same time. 

“Nevertheless, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t wish to,” Newt says. 

They fall silent again. Newt listens to Credence’s heartbeat and tries not to feel sad that the man won’t tell him anything.

“My mother runs an orphanage in upstate New York,” Credence finally offers, almost startling Newt. “Well, I mean she’s not my real mother, but she adopted me when I was just a baby,” He says all of this so matter-of-factly and it makes something hurt deep in Newt’s chest. “Anyway, she’s a church lady. Like, a hard core church lady. She used to smack me if my shoes weren’t polished to her standards.” His voice wavers.

“Credence,” Newt starts, but the other man hushes him.

“If I don’t tell you now, I don’t think I ever will.” 

“I’m sorry, you really don’t have to—“

“I want to,” Credence interrupts. “I want you to know.”

Newt nods slightly, and he feels Credence settle his chin on the top of Newt’s head. His hand is warm on Newt’s back and every breath tickles Newt’s hair. 

“One day, she made me take off my belt so she could beat me with it. I had dropped her parish’s fliers on the ground. Anyway, she left all these marks on my back, and when she was done I looked up and saw my little sister, Modesty, watching.” He sucks in a breath. “I wanted to run away so badly, but I knew if I was gone that meant Ma had to take out her anger on someone else and I couldn’t let her lay a hand on Modesty.”

“You’re so brave,” Newt whispers into Credence’s chest, breath blowing against the man’s heart. 

“Not brave enough,” Credence mutters. “Two years later, I had enough. I snuck off in the middle of the night, found my way into the city, and never looked back.”

“You can’t blame yourself for wanting to get out,” Newt says, and Credence lets out a careful breath.

“I can blame myself for lots of things.” he says quietly. Newt is silenced. A car horn blares outside, the soundtrack of London, and Newt thinks about a quiet street in upstate New York where women can beat their children and no one notices. 

“What happened to your sister?” he asks, almost afraid of the answer. He can picture a little girl with Credence’s dark eyes and flowing black curls.

“I write her sometimes. She has to hide the letters from Ma and my older sister Chastity, but I send them all the same. Only once did I give her a return address to send me one back and she mailed me a letter three pages long. I’d asked her about Ma and if she was ever violent with her or Chastity, and she told me the truth.” he huffs out a laugh, “Apparently, Ma only liked beating me.”

“Credence,” Newt begins, but the man hushes him again.

“I’d like to sleep now.”

Newt stares at the wall for hours that night, listening to the sounds of London below. He aches. He aches for Credence deeper than he’s ever felt before and the thought scares him. 

Credence’s breath evens out after a while and his rising and falling chest lulls Newt. When he finally falls into a restless sleep, he dreams about a faceless woman slapping Credence’s skin raw with a black belt. 


	2. instead of in new york

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen to hozier's album while you read this bc i listened him while i wrote it and i want u too feel my ~vibes~
> 
> ANYWAY a special shoutout goes to Kat (sir_not_appearing_in_this_archive) who is TOO KIND and beta-read this for me!! their fic "Newt Scamander and the Impossible Stowaway" is UNREAL and you should DEFINITELY read it!!! thanks again Kat!!!

Newt works hard. Credence has always known this, having attended numerous of his shoots, but London is a different beast entirely. He follows Newt around for a single day to all of his appointments and sees just what being an internationally famous model entails.

They start out the morning with a fitting for British  _ Vogue _ . Credence watches while Newt tries on nearly a hundred different outfits, switching out suits for button up shirts that hug his waist. He tries on polos and capris pants and 70’s inspired turtlenecks and quilted blazers. At one point a stylist hands Newt a truly ridiculous pair of patterned shorts and Credence can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his throat. Newt’s head flies up and he looks at Credence with long-suffering narrowed eyes. 

After the fitting, Newt has a business lunch with Albus Dumbledore. Despite Credence’s insistence that he could leave them to eat in privacy, Newt drags him along, all the while chattering to Credence about how much he is going to love his boss.

Albus Dumbledore is a very interesting looking man. He’s grandfatherly, with blue eyes that look like ice and a white beard that looks like cotton. He’s dressed in a purple plaid suit that has a double breasted front and gold buttons. He has a pair of half-moon shaped glasses perched on his nose that he looks at Credence through. He wears a wide-brimmed hat that casts shadows over his face and complements his suit. He’s one of the most eccentric men Credence has ever met, which is quite a feat considering he works in fashion.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Credence,” he greets, shaking Credence’s hand. His grip is strong. “I’ve heard nearly nothing about you.”

Credence raises his eyebrows at Newt, who colors. 

“Don’t tease, Albus,” Newt admonishes, sitting down at the cafe table and sticking his head into a menu. Sometimes Credence wonders how Newt has made it so far despite his awkwardness during social situations.

“I am not teasing. I’m just a little hurt that you’ve told me nothing about the boy who’s stolen your heart,” Albus jokes lightly and Newt ducks his head further. Credence has to grudgingly admit to himself that Newt may have been correct: he does like the old man after all. 

Albus asks Credence endless questions about himself, including his favorite sweets and his favorite designers. His ramblings border on mad, with seemingly no rhyme or reason, but Credence is captivated by the way he speaks with such authority about the world. It’s obvious to him how Albus and Newt could work so well together. Their madness complements each other.

Credence eats a sandwich and Dumbledore tells him all about his time in the industry, speaking about the men and women he’s met who hunger for fame and fortune.

“Power corrupts,” he warns. “Do not forget that,” 

Credence nods, remembering the demons of his own past. Dumbledore peers at him over his glasses, calculating, and then nods as well, smiling slightly.

When it’s finally time to talk business, Dumbledore pulls out a tablet and shows Newt sketches of thin women wearing large ball gowns and men with bell bottom jeans and vests. Newt suggests slight alterations, grabbing the stylus and making short fast strokes to connect lines and add volume. Dumbledore hums as he draws with long fingers. With their heads bent together over a drawing, Credence thinks they look like a pair of geniuses who could change the world. But maybe he’s biased.

Albus then mentions a shoot later in the week, and Newt snaps his fingers and asks him about perhaps setting Credence up with a few jobs.

“You don’t have to do that,,” Credence cuts in. 

“It’s my job, my boy,” Albus simply answers and jots a few things down on his calendar. 

Albus departs after they’ve finished, shaking Credence’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder.

“I hope to see you again soon, Credence,” he says, “I quite enjoyed our talk,” Credence swallows and nods quickly. Newt smiles at the floor.

Next is an interview with  _ Elle _ magazine that will accompany the photoshoot Newt has scheduled for tomorrow. Credence doesn’t go into the room with him, instead choosing to sit in the lobby and flick through the old copies of their magazine they have on the coffee table. Newt emerges from the office after nearly two hours, shaking the receptionist’s hand politely as he leaves. Credence jumps up from the couch in the lobby and they leave to go catch a quick dinner before heading home to change.

Newt is invited to a gallery showing downtown that night. He and Credence have a spare thirty minutes to get ready before the car picks them up, so they take a quick shower together. As Credence massages shampoo into Newt’s head he thinks vaguely of staying home while Newt goes out to charm half of London’s art scene, but then he notices the slump of Newt’s shoulders and decides against it. He’s tired from the long day but he’s sure Newt is even more exhausted. Credence can’t imagine living every day like this, running around the entire city without a moment to breathe in between.

He grabs Newt’s soap and pours some into his hands, then reaches forward to massage Newt’s shoulders. He kneads them tightly, the soap lathering into bubbles, and the tension in Newt’s neck melts away. He lets out a sigh that echoes in the glass shower. Newt’s skin is slippery beneath Credence’s hands as he slides them down to work the pain out of his lower muscles.

Newt turns around and leans in to kiss Credence, his lips wet and his eyes shut. His hands cup Credence’s jaw and the steam from the shower curls around them like smoke.

“We’re gonna be late,” Credence pulls away to say, spinning so he can rinse the conditioner out of his hair. The water has cooled slightly and threatens to turn completely cold if they linger any longer.

“We’d better go then,” Newt responds and makes no move to leave.

They climb into the car five minutes past when they’re meant to.

The gallery is lit with soft yellow light that spills out the windows and onto the streets out front. There are a few dozen people milling about outside smoking and the inside is comfortably full of the artist elite of London. Newt and Credence take their walk through the gallery hand-in-hand, sharing a glass of wine. Newt likes to get really close to the art, enough to see the texture of the paint and all the little hidden details. Credence much prefers to stand back and look at the bigger picture, but he indulges in Newt’s want to get close and stands at his shoulder as the man examines the canvas.

They’re approached by lots of people Credence doesn’t know who sound very sophisticated with their English accents. People tell them how much they love Newt’s work and quiz him on his opinions of the art and smile politely, if slightly confused, at Credence when asking who he is. Credence doesn’t quite know how to answer, so he simply shrugs and calls himself a friend. People accept it. 

The flow of people to Newt doesn’t stop. He’s approached by nearly everyone in the gallery, who all seem desperate to make his acquaintance. Multiple women laugh loudly at the awkward things Newt says, hitting his shoulder lightly with manicured hands, but Newt pays them no attention. He simply keeps hold of Credence’s hand and smiles politely back. His bones seem to vibrate under his skin from all the unwanted attention.

It startles Credence, how much he cares for this ridiculous man with his fame and his freckles. He sees Newt among all the art and marvels at how the most beautiful still-life of all that hang in the room could be a person. The paintings on the gallery’s walls are someone’s entire life; their everything is wrapped up in canvas and charcoal. Credence thinks his everything might be wrapped up in Newt Scamander.

They go home late that night and Newt falls face-first into bed fully dressed. Credence pulls the man’s shoes off carefully and then gets him to shuck his slacks and button-up. He throws them on the floor and strips out of his own clothing before crawling into bed next to him. Newt is asleep before Credence can even tell him goodnight.

 

Albus calls early the next morning. Credence groans as Newt rolls over to answer it, dragging his heat away. He can hear the man’s voice on the other line as he greets Newt good morning, then gets right to business.

“Dolce and Gabbana need a fill-in for their show tonight,” he explains, and Newt sighs. 

“I can’t, I have—“ But Dumbledore cuts him off.

“I was asking for Credence.” 

Credence has never walked in a fashion show before. Mr. Graves dragged him to plenty in his never ending quest to show Credence off to the entirety of New York City, but he has never modeled in one. The idea of it is terrifying. At photo shoots, there are only a few people there for him to disappoint. But an entire room staring at him, cataloguing his every move? It sounds like a nightmare.

But then Credence looks at Newt. The man’s smile is wide and proud and a little tired, with too big teeth and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Credence just can’t find it in himself to say no when Newt is looking at him with such adoration.

“I— I guess,” Credence answers, and Newt relays the info to Albus. He hears Albus rattle off a few details that Newt nods along to and then he hangs up. Newt slides back over to rest his head on Credence’s chest and perhaps catch a few more minutes of sleep. Credence wonders if he can hear how fast his heart is beating.

He shows up to the dress rehearsal later that morning sick to his stomach. Paper thin men and women wander around half-dressed, stumbling from stylist to stylist. Assistants buzz about, jotting down measurements and pushing around racks of clothes. Credence watches the madness with a detached sort of horror.

“Credence Barebone?” A dark-haired woman walks up to him and asks, looking up from a clipboard. He nods and she motions to him to follow her as she weaves her way through the crowd and towards a long row of clothing racks.

“Waist?” The woman asks, eyebrows raised. 

“29 inches,” He responds, and she tuts her tongue before pulling a pair of blue velvet slacks off a rack. She averts her eyes and he slides them on, and then squints at him once he’s dressed. 

“They’ll do. This way,” She walks off again, and Credence gathers up his own pants from the floor and follows. “Chest?”

“Um, 39,” She nods again and slides a blazer off its hanger. It’s velvet as well, with a silk lapel and an intricate design on the front and arms. When Credence looks closer, he sees it’s the architecture of a chapel, with pillars and stained-glass windows embroidered into the fabric. The jacket is heavy, and Credence pulls it on over his undershirt. The woman steps forward to pin and tuck the waist, fitting it to his body a touch closer. 

“Alright, this will work,” She says, “Go over to Victor and he’ll get you a shirt and some shoes,” The woman points across the room to where a man is thrusting pairs of shiny shoes in waiting model’s hands. Credence approaches, telling the man his measurements quietly, and is given a pair of oxfords. He also gets a black button up shirt, which he unfolds and drapes over his arm. 

“First show?” A stranger is sidled up next to Credence, lips quirked. He’s devastatingly handsome, with short black curly hair and dark eyes. He wears a blazer much like Credence’s, only in a light grey color and with a double breasted front. His dark skin shimmers in the light.

“Yes,” Credence answers, and keeps his eyes downcast. 

“I’m sure you’re a natural,” The man says. “You should get dressed though, rehearsal is starting soon.”

Credence looks around and sees all the models busily throwing on their outfits, leaving their own clothes just lying on the floor. He follows suit, stripping out of his sweater and pulling on the black button up, then the blazer. When he’s finished and dressed, the man next to him smoothes his shoulder and smirks at him.

“Looks great,” The man says, and Credence offers him a tight-lipped smile. They join the line of models, queueing up to do a quick walk down the runway. The stage is impossibly long, with hundreds of folding chairs lining it. The runway itself is lit with a white LED light, and the end of it is met with hundreds of camera stands. He walks down it carefully, with his shoulders back and eyes held straight forward. He clenches his jaw when he gets to the end, poses with his hands in his pockets, and then turns. 

“Fantastic, Credence,” A woman tells him as he exits the stage, and helps him shed his blazer. She returns it to a rack, putting it on a hanger that has his name scrawled across it. Credence goes to find his own clothes and puts them back on, shrugging into his familiar sweater. “Come back tonight at 6:00 so we can get you into hair and makeup.”

When Credence returns, the backstage area is even more frantic than it was that morning. Everyone is running about, getting sprayed with heinous amounts of hairspray and drinking bottles of water between makeup applications. Credence approaches an empty station, and a woman with purple hair starts to style him. She brushes a faint bit of eyeliner along his lash-line, smoking it out into a blurry shadow. She darkens his eyebrows and brushes them upwards, then puts bronzer in the hollows of his cheeks. The hair stylist pulls his hair back into a bun, leaving a few strands loose around his face and then sprays him with hairspray to hold it in place.

Before Credence knows it, the show is starting. The lights outside dim and music begins to pump through the speakers. The models line up, and Credence feels his legs begin to shake as he approaches the stage. He can hear chatter and the sounds of hundreds of camera shutters. The flashing lights make him feel slightly dizzy, and he has to be guided up to the runway by a PA. 

He walks. His feet move by an accord of their own, carrying him down the stage in a steady rhythm, and when he gets to the end he spots a very familiar face in the audience. Newt is in the front row, his cellphone held up to record. When Credence turns and poses at the end of the runway, Newt claps and whistles for him and Credence can’t help the small smile he lets loose. 

Credence strips out of his outfit backstage, giving his shirt and shoes back to Victor and replacing his blazer on the rack. The woman who had helped him undress earlier comes over and thanks him for all his help, shaking his hand and apologizing for the offer being so short notice. Credence nods and keeps his eyes down.

When the show is over and done, Credence dresses in his own clothes and goes out to find Newt. He finally spots him standing by himself near a tall table. People buzz around him, saying hello, but he stands with his head bowed and shoulders hunched. He’s wearing a blue sweater pulled over top of a white button up, the collar sticking out. There’s a pair of black glasses perched on the tip of his nose. Credence approaches and clears his throat. Newt spins and smiles brightly at him.

“You were amazing!” He exclaims, two glasses of amber champagne in his hands. He holds one out and Credence takes it. He takes a sip and the bubbles tickle his nose. Newt is looking at him in complete adoration and it twists something in Credence’s stomach. “You were a complete natural out there!”

“I think I like photoshoots better,” Credence says and Newt laughs. He nods, orange hair bouncing slightly. 

“I have to agree with you on that one,” He clinks his glass against Credence’s and puts a hand in his pocket. There’s the flash of a camera to Credence’s right and he looks over to see a photographer trying to capture photos of him and Newt. Newt looks uncomfortable with the attention, so Credence downs his glass of champagne and steps forward.

“Wanna go?” He asks and Newt nods. And then Newt does something that surprises Credence: he reaches out to interlock their fingers. His grip is strong, long fingers blending in with Credence’s and grounding him. There’s a flash from the photographer again, but Credence pays it no mind as they move to find the exit of the building.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Credence flirts, squeezing Newt’s hand.

“Only occasionally,” he counters. 

They round a corner and Credence stops dead in his tracks. There’s a man leaning against the wall, a glass of brown liquid held loosely in his gloved hand. He looks up as the two stop in front of him and a smile grows on his mouth.

Percival Graves is just as handsome as Credence remembers him. Dark hair, graying just a bit around the edges, and thick eyebrows frame the man’s face, with his jaw showing just the barest hints of stubble. His dark suit is tailored to fit his wide shoulders perfectly, and his smirk is sharp. 

“Credence,” He greets, eyes dark, “Fancy seeing you here. It’s been quite a while,” 

“Percival,” Credence responds breathlessly. Newt’s hand in his is suddenly heavy, and Credence thinks seriously about letting go. He doesn’t. Newt is stiff by his side and when Credence sneaks a look at him, the man looks deadly.

“This is Newt Scamander,” Credence introduces formally, and Newt flicks his eyes at Credence. He looks wild, ready to fight or flee at a moment’s notice. “Newt, this is M— Percival Graves,”

“A pleasure,” Newt says, head bowed to the side. His honey eyes have calmed slightly, slipping towards feigned indifference. Mr. Graves reaches out a gloved hand for him to shake, but Newt ignores it coolly. Credence would be proud if he weren’t moments away from a panic attack.

“You walked marvelously in the show,” Mr. Graves says to Credence, letting his hand fall back to his side. Credence forces himself to nod nonchalantly.

“Thank you,” He says. Percival shrugs and takes another sip of his drink. His dark eyes travel from Newt’s shoes to the top of his head, sizing him up. 

“What brings you to London, Mr. Graves?” Newt asks politely, but Credence can hear the underlying danger. Credence squeezes his hand reassuringly.

“Business, of course.” Percival responds, “Searching for my next prodigy.” Then he reaches his arm out to touch Credence’s neck. The hand is cold and heavy, pressing into the tender skin above his collarbone. Credence’s breath gets stuck in his throat.

“Don’t touch him,” Newt commands, his facade of calm slipping, and Mr. Graves chuckles before drawing his arm back. Newt’s hand is shaking. The air is electric as the two men stare each other down. It feels like all the lights in the room dim and Credence is standing in the spotlight on a stage. The air is suffocating and the busy noise of hundreds of voices chattering is overwhelming. 

“Newt,” Credence whispers, squeezing his hand again. The man casts a glance at him and his anger evaporates.

“We need to be going now,” Newt says stiffly and pulls Credence away from Percival Graves and his dark eyes. 

“It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Scamander!” Graves calls across the room as they bid a hasty retreat and Credence shudders at the laugh in his tone. “I do hope to be seeing you again.”

The air on the street is cold and flows into Credence’s lungs like water. He draws breath after breath of it as a valet brings Newt’s car around. Paparazzi loiter around the entrance, snapping photos of Newt opening his door and ushering him inside. They swarm like bees, shouting questions and asking for autographs. Newt is practiced in ignoring them and drives the car away with a grimace on his face.

“Credence, I’m so sorry,” Newt says, grabbing Credence’s knee with one hand as the other steers. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me. I’m sorry, I promise I wasn’t angry at you.” Credence doesn’t respond.

Newt sneaks glances at him out of the corner of his eye when they stop at a red light, but Credence just turns to look out the window. He smokes a cigarette and doesn’t offer a drag to Newt. The man doesn’t ask for one.

Finally, when they’re almost home, Credence speaks.

“I didn’t think he’d be able to find me here.” London had been a dream, a hope of escape. In New York, danger could rest around any corner; Mr. Graves’ Manhattan office building was just a reminder that Credence could never fully escape. London had felt like a refuge, a place where he could be open and loved. Now, it’s dirty. The lights are dimmer and the feel of Newt’s hand in his doesn’t burn the same.

It’s just another point in a long list of things Percival Graves has taken away from him.

 

They arrive home in silence. The scent of smoke lingers in Newt’s car. Newt’s fingers are white where they grip the steering wheel and when Credence moves to open his door, he startles. His eyes are far away. They ride the elevator to Newt’s floor like strangers, both lost in their own worlds. Once in Newt’s home, Credence steps out of his shoes and sits at the kitchen island. Newt putters about, putting the kettle on and bringing down a canister of tea.

“I can make you a coffee if you want,” Newt asks, voice rough. Credence shakes his head slightly and Newt turns to grab himself a mug from the cupboard. Newt fixes himself a cup of tea and drinks it leaned back against the sink, legs crossed. He stares at the wall the entire time he sips, and Credence watches him with careful eyes. His glasses are fogged up from steam and his hair is messy where he’s run his fingers through it.

Credence stands. He makes his way towards Newt slowly and takes the mug from his boyfriend’s hands. Newt’s eyebrows furrow but Credence ignores his confusion. He sets the cup down carefully on the counter, far away. Then he leans forward and kisses Newt, a hand curling around the back of his neck and sinking into his hair. His tongue slides slick against Newt’s and he presses his body as close to the other man as he can.

“Make me forget.” Credence murmurs against Newt’s lips. Newt closes his eyes and sighs.

“I don’t think I can do that,” he apologizes, pressing his forehead against Credence’s. He winds his arms around Credence’s waist and squeezes him gently.

“Do your best.” Credence bites Newt’s lip between his teeth lightly, his hand scratching at the back of Newt’s head. 

When Newt opens his eyes, his pupils are dilated. He carefully takes off his glasses and folds them up, setting them on the counter next to his tea. He surges forward to kiss Credence again and the slide of his mouth is heavy and pushes thoughts of Percival Graves out of Credence’s head.

He runs his hands down Newt’s front, dipping inside the front of his pants and resting against his lower stomach. It jerks when Newt breathes, his abs clenching against Credence’s fingers. His tongue is hot in Credence’s mouth and his own hand is running up Credence’s back to tangle in his thick hair.

Credence’s hands shake as he fumbles Newt’s belt buckle open, sliding against the black leather and making the clasp clank. Newt’s hands are steadier when he reaches down to assist. Everything becomes frantic when Newt’s pants are open, and Credence moans as Newt spins him around to lean his front against the kitchen island and slides his pants and underwear down to mid thigh. He pulls a small container of lube out of his pocket, ever prepared, and works Credence open with quick fingers, nothing like his usual gentleness. It’s exquisite. 

“God, please fuck me,” Credence cries into the curve of his elbow, sinking teeth into his own skin. He’s bent over the countertop, cheek pressed against cool marble. Newt crooks his fingers and they brush against Credence’s prostate, making the man moan and press back against Newt’s hips. His long fingers press and rub into Credence until he’s nearly sobbing for it.

He can hear Newt fumble a bit behind him and then he’s pressing the tip of his cock inside, his hand clutched tight to Credence’s hip.

He thrusts into Credence roughly, breath hitching at the resistance. It burns a little bit, but Credence pushes back and meets his rhythm despite the slight pain. He’s loud, groaning at every thrust that hits his prostate, and Newt moans in response. They echo against the tile in a chorus. 

Newt travels one hand around Credence’s front, dipping down to take his cock in hand. His other hand travels up Credence’s back, drawing his shirt up with it and revealing the thin white scars that line his spine. Credence knows they’re almost invisible from the years of healing, the evidence of his mother’s abuse almost gone forever. 

The cold air on his spine makes him shiver.

Suddenly, Newt’s hand on his cock disappears and instead wraps around Credence’s waist. He pulls out and spins Credence around. He sinks down onto the kitchen floor and brings Credence down with him. He leans against a drawer and pulls Credence onto his lap, an awkward balance.

Now that Credence can see his face, he notices the sweat that wets his boyfriend’s hairline. His eyes are huge and liquid and he’s so flushed he looks like he has a fever. He uses his hand to guide his cock back inside Credence, then thrusts upwards. His arms wrap around Credence’s back and draws him impossibly close. Credence’s bare feet slide against the tile and his hands grip the edge of the countertop for balance. Newt’s hand on his cock is tight, wrist twisting upwards on every stroke, and he rocks forward into Newt’s fingers with his eyes squeezed shut tightly. 

“God,” Newt breathes, his face pressed into Credence’s sweaty neck. Credence’s shirt is damp, the white button up almost see-through, and Newt pulls the collar to the side to kiss his way up Credence’s neck. They breathe each other’s air, pressed so close it’s almost claustrophobic.

When Credence comes, he shouts and it rings throughout the apartment. His orgasm pulses through his entire body in time with his rapidly beating heart, making his thighs tense and his toes curl. Newt doesn’t slow, just presses forward to meet Credence’s mouth and capture his tongue. He spills inside Credence after a few more wild thrusts, a stuttering breath caught in his throat and his head thrown back. He trembles through it, making high breathy noises that burn deep in Credence’s stomach. 

When everything is settled, Credence laughs. He tips his head back and laughs into the cold air of Newt’s apartment with shiny teeth and a heaving chest. He clutches Newt’s arms with white fingers, digging in and leaving little half crescent marks from his fingernails. His feet slip on the tile floor as he climbs off Newt’s lap and pulls his pants back up. Then he sits down with his back against the cupboard next to Newt, puts his head in his hands, and laughs some more. At some point, he’s not quite sure when, the laughs turn to sobs. He cries into folded arms with his knees tucked up to his chest. Newt slides an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in close to his chest, shushing him and running his hand through Credence’s damp hair. 

They sit on the kitchen floor for hours. Newt’s tea gets cold.


	3. and the curve of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you ever see a person so beautiful that it shakes you to your very core? bc that's how i feel about ezra miller.
> 
> anyway, here's a new chapter.

Credence doesn’t leave the apartment the next day. He curls up in bed wearing Newt’s clothes and stays home while Newt goes out to work. Newt listens to him phone and cancel a photoshoot and he can tell it pains Credence to skip out on work.

Newt spends all day at work worried. It eats away at him as he poses for magazines and gives boring answers to boring interview questions. When he steps outside for some air, he hears the makeup girls whispering about him and they way he’s been caught up in his head all day. They gossip on about how the many rumors are true: Newt Scamander is a weird man.

Albus asks him how Credence’s show went and Newt gives a canned answer, telling him about the walk itself and showing him the photos he’d snapped on his phone. Dumbledore hums and grins, telling Newt he knew Credence was going to do well, but Newt only smiles tightly in return. 

That night when Newt comes home, Credence doesn’t seem to have moved from the bed. The bedside table is stacked high with books he’s apparently read and a mug full of cold coffee is sat next to the pile. Newt makes him dinner that he doesn’t eat. They fall asleep facing each other, but Credence makes no move to cuddle closer.

On day two, Credence wakes up long before he does. Newt finds him in the kitchen, a cup of black coffee held in his hands as he stares out the kitchen window. There are bags under his eyes and his long hair is greasy. Newt walks up behind him and winds his arms around his waist, tucking himself into Credence’s back. He hunches his shoulders and lays his head against the back of Credence’s neck, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Credence’s shirt smells like Newt’s laundry detergent and Newt feels him lean back into the contact. 

“I know you weren’t angry with me the other night,” Credence offers after a long moment. “You didn’t have to apologize,” His voice is soft, but it doesn’t get lost in the high ceilings of Newt’s apartment. It settles over Newt’s shoulders like a blanket. Credence continues.

“I’m trying to work on the whole… anxiety thing,” he admits. His back shifts against Newt’s face, shoulder blades curling inwards. Newt takes a step back, breaking his hold, and Credence turns. They face each other.  

“It’s not a thing, Credence,” Newt says seriously. “And you don’t have to be ashamed of it. Your feelings are normal and okay; I’m only concerned because I care about you and don’t like to see you hurt.” He’s rambling now. “But if you want help getting a handle on it, I can definitely arrange that,” He starts mentally running through a list of therapists he knows, including the one who helped him through Mum’s death.

“Thanks,” Credence responds quietly.

“Any time,” Newt says fervently, “I always want you to be happy,” And then, before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “I love you.” 

Credence stares at him, eyes wide. His hand is shaking minutely, sloshing coffee around in his mug. Newt wants to rewind the entire morning and start fresh. 

“I’m sorry if that was, um, too soon or something,” Newt quickly apologizes, eyes averted. “You don’t have to say anything back, I just, um, wanted you to know that I do, you know, love you and everything, uh.”

“I love you too,” Credence interrupts just as Newt is beginning to wish the floor would swallow him up. Newt flicks his eyes back to him and Credence is looking at him with something like wonder written all over his face.

“Oh,” Newt responds eloquently. Credence just smiles at him over the rim of his coffee cup and then holds it out to Newt in offering. Newt waves it off with a grimace and moves to make himself a cup of tea instead. When he brushes by Credence to get to the cupboard, Credence reaches a hand out and tangles it in the front of Newt’s shirt. He pulls him in and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Newt’s mouth. His breath smells like coffee.

When he finally leaves that morning for work, Credence is curled up on the couch with yet another book. The ceiling-height windows show a cloudy sky and the room feels cold with the promise of rain. Newt kisses the top of Credence’s head before departing and Credence smiles.

It does rain. Newt bobs and weaves his way through it with a newspaper held over his head to protect him slightly. When walking by a magazine booth downtown, he catches a glimpse of a cover where Percival Graves is tucked into the corner. The headline reads  _ American Designer Touches Down in London.  _ Newt looks away from the tabloid and wills his anger down. The rain soaks through his newspaper umbrella and sticks his hair to his forehead. It doesn’t cleanse him like he hopes. 

When he gets home that night, Credence isn’t curled up on the couch anymore. He seems to have showered and there’s a bit of color in his cheeks. He still has dark circles under his eyes but he no longer looks sickly, just tired. He’s sitting at the kitchen island and when Newt drops his keys on a table near the door, he can hear someone else making noise in the kitchen. 

He rounds the corner and sees Theseus bustling about the room, cooking dinner. The smell of garlic fills the apartment and Newt feels tension bleed from his shoulders as he steps further inside.

“Hey, brother,” Theseus greets over his shoulder and Credence offers Newt a tentative smile. He has a recipe book open in front of him and Newt recognizes the flowery handwriting of his mother inside. Theseus is whirling about, grabbing handfuls of spices and peeking in the oven door. 

“Hi,” Newt responds simply. 

“What have you been feeding this boy, Newtie?” Theseus asks as he slides a sheet of garlic bread into the oven. 

“Uh,” Newt hesitates and Theseus goes on.

“If Mum were here she’d be horrified! I know you models have to watch your figure and all that jazz, but you both need some home-cooked food stat,” he rambles and Newt flushes. 

“I cook!” he shoots back and then considers the way he and Credence have eaten take-out every night this week and ducks. “Okay, I suppose you’re right,”

“Of course I am,” Theseus responds smugly. He walks around the island to peek at the cookbook from over Credence’s shoulder and hums. Newt walks up and looks too, down at his mother’s recipe for vegan lasagna. Her script is beautiful as it flows across the page and Newt feels a pang of something that feels like homesickness. But then Credence looks up at him and it disappears in a cloud of smoke that curls upwards, towards a purple sky at sunset.

Theseus pulls the lasagna out of the oven with mitt-covered hands and sets it on top of the stove to cool. 

“Wanna set the table, Newt, darling?” Theseus requests as he hunts for a knife to cut into the dinner with. Newt snorts. He doesn’t have a dining room table for them to sit at so he pulls plates out of the cupboard and sets them on the kitchen island so they can sit next to each other as they eat. 

When they’re done with dinner, they move to the living room. Theseus plays music from his phone and they drink glasses of wine. Newt sits in his armchair as Credence sinks down onto the floor in front of the couch. Theseus settles onto the floor across the coffee table from him and materializes a deck of cards out of somewhere. He teaches Credence card tricks and they play solitaire as Newt watches from the corner. He sips his wine and is content to observe. 

When Newt catches Credence’s eye, the boy’s smile is easy. He looks calm and comfortable as he reclines against the edge of the couch, back resting on soft leather and feet splayed out under the table. 

Exhaustion creeps up on Newt. As he relaxes into the armchair to watch his brother and his boyfriend shuffle cards, he feels his eyelids get heavier and heavier. The emotional weight of the past week weighs down on him and he drifts off to sleep. He only wakes when he hears Theseus leave, shutting the front door quietly and bidding Credence a good night.

“Sorry,” he apologizes drowsily when Credence turns around and he shakes his head.

“You needed the rest,” Credence explains as he holds a hand out to help him up. When Newt stands, Credence uses the momentum to pull him in and hug him against his chest. 

“You should rest too,” Newt says against Credence’s sternum, arms coming up to wrap around the man’s back. Credence rests his cheek on Newt’s head and breathes deeply. His back expands with his breath and Newt can feel a shake in his skin, a shudder that betrays his earlier happiness.

“Sometimes I dream I’m back with Ma,” Credence says quietly. “It makes it hard to close my eyes,” 

Newt can’t find the words to comfort him so he doesn’t try. Instead, he leads Credence to bed and wraps his arms around him tightly. He pulls Credence’s back against his chest and tangles their legs together. He can feel when Credence falls asleep and he stays awake for as long as he can to make sure Credence’s rest is peaceful. He dozes off after nearly an hour. 

In the morning, the bags under Credence’s eyes are almost invisible. Newt forgets to call his therapist.

 

…

 

Two weeks go by a lot faster than Newt had hoped they would. He knew they were going to, but he’s never had good time management skills and it feels like Credence has only been a part of his world for a few hours. 

After running into Percival Graves at the fashion show, Newt is even more hesitant to let Credence return home to New York City. He knows that Queenie and Jacob and Tina are there to protect him and watch over him, but he wonders if it’s enough. If something happens, Newt has an entire plane ride across the ocean before he can be there to help. The thought is frightening.

The paparazzi catch them out to dinner a few nights before Credence is set to leave, flashing their bright lights and capturing photo after photo of them as they leave the restaurant hand in hand. Newt doesn’t think twice about brushing past them with Credence in tow and a smile on his face.

“Newt,” Credence says as they climb into his car, “Are you sure it’s okay for us to be photographed together?”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Newt says, glancing in the rearview mirror and backing out of their parking spot. Credence is looking out the window as the paparazzi disperse. 

“I just don’t know if you maybe wanted to keep our relationship secret,” Credence says awkwardly. Newt doesn’t know how to respond. He can’t think of the words he wants to reassure Credence with; how to tell him he wants everyone to know that Credence is his. 

“I’d never want to keep you secret,” he settles on, reaching over to take Credence’s hand. They intertwine their fingers on top of Credence’s thigh and Newt drives home one-handed. 

 

…

 

Theseus comes round on Credence’s last night in London, bringing with him a six pack of beer and a container of ice cream. He makes them watch trashy romantic comedies and provides commentary of every star he’s interacted with during his time in Hollywood. He pulls out  _ Titanic _ and Newt wants to roll his eyes until Credence says shyly that he’s never seen it before. Theseus jumps up and puts the DVD in, then settles into the couch at Credence’s side.

“This is Leonardo DiCaprio at his absolute peak! I can’t believe you’ve never seen it!” he wails, disbelieving. Credence flushes.

“Ma didn’t like watching movies much,” he explains and Theseus furrows his eyebrows. Newt prays he doesn’t say anything and it's answered in the way Theseus doesn’t respond and just squeezes Credence’s shoulders. Newt leans into his other side and Credence is bracketed by the siblings in a warm embrace. 

Newt watches Credence through the whole movie. The boy sits with his knees pulled up to his chest and studies the screen through the entirety of the three hour long film. He laughs when Rose and Jack dance and he cries when Jack dies. He clutches Newt’s hand at the ending, tears streaming down his cheeks as Rose climbs the stairs and is reunited with Jack once again. When he catches Newt staring, he sniffs and laughs a little bit at himself, brushing his tears away with the back of his hand. Newt is impossibly fond of him.

When the film is finally over, it’s nearly two in the morning. Theseus is dead asleep on the couch and Newt is not far away from slumber himself. He blinks tired eyes at Credence when he stands, pulling the man up with him. Newt tucks a warm blanket around his brother’s shoulders as Credence watches fondly and then they climb the stairs to Newt’s room. 

Credence curls around his back in bed, tucking his knees behind Newt’s and sliding a hand warm around his waist to rest over his heart. Newt lays his hand over top Credence’s and they fall asleep tangled together.

The next morning, Newt doesn’t want to get out of bed. Credence’s flight departs at 11am, too early considering their late night. His suitcase is packed, resting at the foot of Newt’s bed solemnly. They can hear Theseus snoring from the living room and when Newt peeks downstairs, he sees his brother sprawled out on the couch. The blanket he’d given him is crumpled on the ground. Typical.

Credence and Newt smoke a cigarette while standing on the balcony, watching as the sun warms the streets and chases fog away. Credence flicks ash over the edge, feet bare on the stone ground, and Newt watches the embers drift and dance in the wind. When Credence hands him the smoke he takes it and inhales with his head down. It burns in his lungs and he holds it there, savoring the pain and letting it ground him. 

Theseus cooks them breakfast as they share a quick shower, promising that he’ll burn the toast if they get up to any funny business. Newt is too tired to do anything other than bathe, but he does entertain the idea for a tantalizing moment. Instead, he washes Credence’s hair and they brush their teeth side by side in Newt’s mirror for the last time.

When they’re done, they go out to the kitchen and see that Theseus has prepared them all bowls of oatmeal and slices of peanut butter toast. He offers the bowls with a tired smile and they eat sitting at the kitchen island again. When they’re finished, Newt gathers up their dishes and dumps them into the sink to do later. Credence fetches his bags.

Theseus is waiting by the door when they go to leave. He pulls Credence into a tight hug, squeezing the boy against his chest with no mercy. 

“I very much enjoyed becoming your friend, Credence,” Theseus says into Credence’s hair. He rubs his hands along Credence’s back quickly and Credence very lightly pats his back in return. When they break away, Newt doesn’t think he imagines the tears that shine in Theseus’ eyes. Credence looks misty as well. A fond warmth settles in Newt’s bones. “Come back to visit soon, right?” Theseus asks and Credence nods his head. 

“Otherwise Newt and I are gonna have to come to New York and I don’t think the Big Apple can handle me,” Newt’s brother continues, his confident smirk back. 

“I think I belong in London,” Credence decides, setting his shoulders. Theseus grins widely.

“I guess I’ll see you soon, then,” he says back. He pulls Credence in for one last hug and then ruffles Newt’s hair. “Have a good flight!” Newt doesn’t duck away from his brother’s hand. 

They leave Newt’s apartment. He watches Credence take one last look around, eyes lingering on the windows and the bookshelves. He shuts the door behind him and Newt grabs his hand, clutching it tightly. He presses a quick kiss to Credence’s cheek and they go to find the car.

The drive to the airport is silent. Credence smokes one last cigarette and Newt fiddles with the radio nervously. When they pull into the parking lot, Credence flicks the butt of his smoke out the window and sighs heavily. They go inside.

Newt walks Credence to his gate, distractedly fiddling with the other man’s boarding pass. Credence pats his pockets and makes sure he has all his necessary identification. When they are finally near security, Newt stops.

“So,” Newt says. He hands Credence his boarding pass and then shoves his hands deep in his pockets. Credence doesn’t look up from his ticket. “I’ll miss you,” Newt settles on.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Credence says back. When he finally lifts his head, his dark eyes are glassy.

“I’ll see you soon,” Newt chokes tightly. Credence moves forward, abandoning his bags, and wraps a hand in Newt’s coat. He brings their mouths together and kisses Newt in the middle of the airport, for all to see. Newt’s eyes flutter closed and he sinks into it, bringing a hand up to cup Credence’s jaw. Credence’s eyelashes are wet as they brush against Newt’s cheeks. Credence kisses him like it’s going to be his last. 

“I love you,” Newt whispers, pulling away. Credence’s eyebrows are furrowed.

“Love you, too,” he says. He shoulders his bag and turns to go through security. Right before he gets ushered through the line, he looks back and holds a hand up in a careful wave. Newt waves back and Credence turns. 

He boards the plane. Newt desperately tries to think of it as a  _ see you later  _ instead of  _ goodbye _ . 


	4. was curved on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao sorry abt this one

Tina picks Credence up from the airport. JFK is as crowded as ever and she stands tucked away in the corner with a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. She’s pulled her short hair back into a bun and is wearing a gray pencil skirt with a white blouse with a long gray trench coat over top. Credence approaches her cautiously. He’s still unsure where he stands with her.

“Welcome home,” she greets and pulls him into a quick hug. She grabs his suitcase and wheels it behind her and she ushers Credence out of the airport and into a waiting taxi. 

“Things went well, I understand,” she says once they’re on their way into Manhattan. “I saw the photos you took with Burberry. They were fantastic; I’ve already added them to your portfolio,”

“Thank you,” Credence mutters. Tina looks at him with a careful eye. He shrinks back away from her gaze. 

“I like you, you know,” she admits. Credence turns to study her. “I certainly didn’t hire you because of Newt Scamander.” 

“Then why did you?” He can’t help asking, digging his fingers into the leather seat to keep from fidgeting under her gaze. 

“I saw a lot of potential in you, Credence,” she answers truthfully. “I think with the right guidance, one day you could be as famous as Newt,” 

Credence sucks in a breath. Mr. Graves had always talked about ‘the right guidance’, but he usually meant heavy hands at the back of Credence’s neck and whispered words to keep him submissive. He shakes the thoughts from his head and looks out the window. Cars whizz by, lost in their own worlds.

Tina clears her throat.

“I’ve worked with him before, you know,” she says quietly and when Credence turns to look at her, her eyes are sad. She doesn’t say the name Percival Graves, but Credence hears it anyway. She picks at her fingernails. “I was his assistant for a while.” 

The fact startles Credence. Mr. Graves had never mentioned anything about her.

“Can you believe I used to look up to him? I really thought he was going to do great things,” She stares out the window, far away. A wry smile works its way across her mouth, but it isn’t happy in the slightest. 

“I punched him one day,” she starts. “He had slapped one of the models and I just couldn’t take it any longer. The way he used to treat his ‘talent’ made me so  _ sick _ , but he’d never resorted to physical violence before. So I hit him and he fired me on the spot.” Her fist is clenched and trembles as if feeling a phantom pain. Credence imagines her rearing back and hitting Graves directly in the face. He can almost see the blood on her knuckles.

“Thanks,” Credence says after a long while. Tina smiles tight lipped and reaches a hand over to squeeze his knee. 

“I wish I had done it sooner.” 

 

Newt is calling him before he’s even in the front door of his apartment. Credence balances the phone against his shoulder as he unlocks his front door and pulls his luggage inside.

“How was your flight?” Newt asks as Credence closes his door.

“Fine,” he answers distractedly, moving towards the kitchen. There’s a pile of mail on the floor near the door that he picks up and sifts through. “Tina picked me up.” Newt mistakes his distraction for displeasure. 

“I know you haven’t warmed up to Tina yet—“ he starts, but Credence cuts him off with a laugh.

“It’s fine, Newt, we had a good talk.” His boyfriend is silent on the other line.

“You two aren’t going to start ganging up on me, are you?” he asks, horrified, and Credence giggles at him. 

“Only if we have good reason,” he jokes and Newt chuckles on the other line. He moves across the room to sit down at his kitchen table. He leans over and cracks open his window and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with deft fingers. He sucks down the first drag and breathes it out slowly. Newt hums on the other line.

“I don’t really have much to talk about, now that I think about it,” he admits, startling another laugh out of Credence. He flicks ash off the end of his smoke and pictures Newt leant up against the edge of his balcony, the London sky lit up behind him.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Newt says, drawing Credence out of his daydream. “I love you.” Even if they’ve said it multiple times now, it always comes as a surprise to Credence. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers and then hangs up.

 

…

 

The days blend together.

Ever since Credence had been spotted out in London with Newt Scamander, the Aurora Agency’s phones have been ringing off the hook. Every wannabe designer in New York City calls to book him, and even a few big names want to set up shoots. Tina schedules him completely solid, with fittings and meetings in the morning and modeling in the afternoons. He goes out to dinner with Tina and Queenie and Jacob and they drink wine and talk about the industry. Jacob bakes Credence sweets and brings them to photoshoots, stuffing them into the pockets of the boy’s coat.

In the evenings, he calls Newt and they swap stories about their day. He puts him on speakerphone as he makes dinner, puttering around the kitchen as Newt regales him with stories of Albus Dumbledore’s eccentricities. Credence fills Newt in on what’s happening in his friends’ lives, telling tales about Queenie’s laughter and Tina’s shy smiles.

He loves talking to Newt at night, but it does hurt immensely to have to hang up and fall asleep alone. His bed feels bigger than it ever has, with far too much room for just him. His blankets can never substitute for the warmth of Newt’s arms wrapped around him and his pillow is less comfortable than Newt’s chest.

All in all, New York is lonely again. 

It’s raining when Credence wraps up his shoot with a photographer from H&M. A week since returning home, Credence finds himself back into the habit of living in New York City. He runs quickly from the H&M building to hail a cab, with his coat held above his head to keep him from getting completely soaked. The ride home is uneventful and he spends the majority of it watching the rain fall in rivulets down the car window. 

Credence tracks rainwater up the steps of his apartment building, shoes squelching uncomfortably on every stair. He digs around in his coat for his apartment key, but when he goes to fit it in the lock his door is already open slightly. His hand flies to his pocket, and he edges the door open fully while pulling out his cellphone. His fingers are poised to dial 911, but before he has a chance, he sees a woman sitting on his couch. Credence’s heart stops.

“Mother,” he whispers, afraid to speak any louder. He can feel his hands shaking, and he balls them into fists in an attempt to make it stop.

“Hello, Credence,” His mother responds, voice hard. She stands from his blue couch, and walks purposely towards him. She makes like she’s going to hug him, but Credence’s flinch stops her. “You shouldn’t hide your spare key in such an obvious place,” Instead of hugging him, she reaches a hand out and curls a strand of his hair around her finger.

“You need a haircut.” she says, “You look like a vagabond.” She pulls lightly at his slightly damp hair.

“How did you find me?” Credence blurts, and Mary Lou’s blue eyes darken. She lets go of his hair and takes a step backwards. Credence hunches his shoulders and angles his body away from her.

“You’ve been hiding for a long time, Credence, but you can’t hide from the eyes of God,” she says stiffly, and shakes her head. “He and I saw what you’ve been up to.”

Credence feels a shiver make its way up his spine. He’s always been so careful, careful to keep his profession a secret, careful to keep Mary Lou from finding him and hunting him down. It’s partially why he’d sought out work with Mr. Graves; because he knew Mother would never go looking for him in the pages of some kink magazine.

Even in the few letters he wrote discretely to Modesty and Chastity, he’d never made mention of his profession, letting them believe he was simply a barista in the big city. The return address he’d granted them a single time was to an empty mailbox in Percival’s building, and he doesn’t tell just anyone where he lives anyway. He’s been so careful not to let her find him, but it seems he failed.

Has Mary Lou found his portfolio? Has she looked at Mr. Graves’ pictures and seen him acting like some whore? Did she find the ones where Mr. Graves was just out of frame, choking him? Did she find the ones where he’d worn an obvious sign of possession around his neck, a chain with a circle and line inside a triangle? Perhaps she’s gone deep and uncovered the personal shots, where Mr. Graves had kissed him while snapping the shutter, catching Credence with his eyes wide open and his eyebrows raised. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Credence says softly with his eyes downcast, and his mother barks out a sharp laugh.

“I found this under Modesty’s bed.” she spits, moving towards Credence’s coffee table to grab something. She shoves it towards him; a magazine is thrust into his hands.

When he looks closer at the cover of the tabloid, he sees himself.  _ Newt Scamander’s New Mystery Beau?  _ the headline reads in large white font. In the photo he’s hand in hand with Newt, head bowed while leaving a restaurant in London. A careless smile is on his face, and Newt looks as handsome as ever.  

“That’s not what it looks like,” Credence sputters, and Mary Lou slaps him. Her hand moves quickly through the air and connects with Credence’s face before he can even think to dodge. The sound rings out through his apartment, and his cheek stings hotly. He can feel tears prick at the edge of his vision.

“Lying is a sin,” Mary Lou scolds. 

“Ma,” he starts, and Mary Lou silences him with another slap.

“I’m not your Ma,” she says coldly. She grabs the magazine back and rips the front cover off and into two pieces, tearing apart the photo of Credence and Newt. She throws the torn cover to the ground. “Don’t embarrass me like this again, Credence.” Her voice is chilling and Credence feels a phantom pain on his back that matches the stinging of his cheek.

“How did you find me?” Credence repeats and even those quiet words ring through the apartment.

“I was contacted,” she says, “By a friend of yours. Percival, if I recall correctly.”

Credence’s blood runs cold. Mary Lou smiles, a sharp thing, and Credence decides it’s time for this to all stop.

“I’d like you to leave now,” Credence murmurs, willing his hands to stop shaking and for his legs to hold him for a few minutes more. Mary Lou squints her eyes at him, sizing him up. 

“Who is Percival, anyway? Another one of your ‘friends’?” she sneers the word and Credence wavers. “You’re wicked, Credence,” she spits, and Credence cannot take it any longer.

“Get out!” he yells suddenly, startling himself and his mother. She looks at him once more with wide eyes and then nods. She collects her coat and brushes past Credence to get to the door.

“I know where you are now, boy,” she threatens quietly. “Don’t make me come back.”

The door slams behind her and it’s barely closed before Credence begins to hyperventilate. His vision tunnels down to one spot and he staggers towards the bathroom door. He scrambles towards his bathtub, ripping aside the shower curtain, and sinks down into it with his knees drawn to his chest. 

The slightly damp smell of the bathroom mixed with the scent of soap is calming and Credence focuses on it as he struggles to find his breath. His hands shake where he clutches his legs. He looks up and the door is closed. He irrationally thinks about Newt being on the other side, leaning with his back against the wall and a cup of coffee in his hands. 

But Newt isn’t in Credence’s apartment. He’s all the way across the sea, hours apart. He’s too far away to protect Credence from his panic or his mother. The realization makes his heart beat even quicker. 

The panic isn’t subsiding. He goes to pull his phone out of his pocket and squints at the bright screen. He thinks for a moment about calling Newt, but doesn’t. Newt is too far away to help and Credence doesn’t want him to worry. It takes him three tries to bring up Queenie’s name in his contact list. His hands feel blurry, stumbling over the buttons and typing in wrong letters. The phone rings and rings and just when he’s about to give up, Queenie’s sweet voice answers.

“Hey, sugar,” she greets and he feels a tendril of pain on his heart loosen.

“Can you come get me?” He chokes out and Queenie sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Of course! Where are you?” He tells her his address. 

“I’ll be right there. Stay on the line with me, sweetie,” she commands, and Credence can hear Jacob in the background. Queenie makes soothing sounds and loudly breathes so Credence can match her and by the time she’s running up the stairs in his apartment building, Credence has calmed down enough that his chest doesn’t hurt anymore. Queenie bursts into the bathroom, Jacob hot on her heels, and makes her way towards Credence with her hands up.

“Come here, sweet boy,” she says, and reaches her hand out to help him up. He stares down at her shoes. They’re mismatched— one blue and the other brown. When he steps out of the bathtub Queenie pulls him into her chest, stroking his head with a feather light hand. 

Credence can feel tears running down his cheeks. Queenie’s embrace is warm and when he looks over his shoulder, he can see Jacob eyeing him carefully.

“What happened, Credence?” Jacob asks gently, and Credence shakes his head. His voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Queenie nods with a pained look on her face, and the two of them lead Credence out of his apartment. He locks it as he goes, and pulls the spare key down from the doorframe and sticks it in his pocket. Jacob’s car is right out front and he slides into the backseat with Queenie. The rain is still coming down in bullets and soaks Credence through again. Queenie pulls him down to rest his head on her lap and she pets his hair as Jacob takes them home.

He hears Jacob call Newt on the phone as he drives. 

“Please don’t bother him,” Credence begs and Queenie’s hand in his hair stills. “Don’t let him come here.”

“Baby, we might not be able to stop him,” she says softly and Credence closes his eyes. He squeezes them shut and wills himself to stop crying.

“Tell him I’m fine,” he commands. “Tell him not to worry.” He opens his eyes in time to see Jacob glance back in the rearview mirror, making eye contact with his wife. Credence doesn’t know what Queenie mouths at him, but Jacob nods.

He tells Newt not to come to New York.

 

…

Queenie and Jacob’s apartment is a dream. The wallpaper is a pale blue and the antique furniture is absolutely gorgeous. Jacob lights a lamp and its glass shade throws multicolored light across the entryway. There’s an old radio tucked away in the corner of the living room that is playing smooth jazz when they enter, left on in their haste to leave. Credence feels guilt curl in his stomach like smoke.

Queenie directs Credence to her bathroom. He takes in the gold walls and clawfoot tub with wide eyes, scanning the vanity in the corner that has what seems like hundreds of bottles scattered about. Queenie sits down on the edge of the bathtub and twists the tap, letting warm water begin to fill. She drops in sweet smelling soap that bubbles and turns the water a pale yellow.

“A bath is just what you need,” she says as Credence strips out of his sweater and takes off his socks. Queenie has seen him undress a hundred times during photoshoots so he isn’t bashful as he takes off his undershirt and unbuckles his belt.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” she says once she deems the bath done. “I’ll see if I can scrounge up some warm clothes for you.”

Credence sinks into the bath with aching knees and the water instantly warms him, making his face flush. He leans against the backrest with his knees drawn to his chest and closes his eyes, tracing spirals in the water with a wrinkled fingertip. 

His phone buzzes where it sits on the corner of the bathroom counter. He doesn’t answer it. 

When Credence finishes his bath, he finds a stack of clean folded clothes sitting on the ground outside the bathroom door. He pulls them on and towels his hair dry, then goes to find Queenie and Jacob.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” he asks, head bowed. He’s standing in the doorframe of the living room, hands folded behind his back. His hair drips on his shoulders and the pajamas Queenie had provided him with are too large, falling well past his hands and feet. Both Queenie and Jacob look up from where they’re sat on the couch, facing each other. Jacob has one of Queenie’s hands in his and is beaming at her with a sort of affection that makes Credence’s heart burn.

“Anything, sweetheart,” Queenie answers. Jacob turns the smile to him with warm brown eyes, and Credence coughs.

“Will you cut my hair?” The couple freeze. They exchange a look, eyebrows furrowed. Credence finds himself marveling again at how kind and good the two of them are; how much they deserve one another. He hopes one day he deserves a love like theirs.

“I’ve never cut hair before,” Queenie says quietly, and Jacob looks at Credence. 

“I can give it a go, if you’d like,” he says, moving to stand. “When I was stationed overseas, I was the unit’s resident hairdresser.” There’s a darkness in his eyes when he talks about the army and Queenie squeezes his arm comfortingly.

“Yes, please,” Credence responds. 

Jacob sits him down at a chair in the kitchen, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He digs a pair of trimming scissors out of the desk in his room and runs fingers through Credence’s wet hair.

“How short?” Jacob asks, a hand on Credence’s shoulder.

“Short.” Credence answers quietly, eyes downcast. He curls his toes against the linoleum and Jacob starts. As the shears clip away at his curls, Jacob tells Credence stories about his grandmother and his bakery and how he met Queenie. The scissors make a metallic snipping sound as Credence’s hair falls to the ground, drifting and getting stuck in his wool socks. Jacob hums to himself and grabs an electric clippers, using it to shape and blend the hair at the nape of Credence’s neck. When he sets down the razor, he runs his hands through Credence’s hair and styles it messily.

“All done,” he proclaims after nearly an hour, holding a mirror out for Credence to look in. 

The man who stares back is nearly a different person. His thick hair is the shortest it’s been in years, curling only slightly at the tops of his ears. Jacob has buzzed the back down short, in a sort of undercut style, and his bangs brush the tops of his eyebrows, side swept. It’s a very attractive haircut. Credence cries. 

“Do you hate it that bad?” Jacob asks with wide brown eyes. Credence shakes his head, shedding lingering strands of hair as he does so. He brushes his tears away with the back of his hand, pressing lightly into his eyes.

“Thank you,” Credence croaks, and Jacob squeezes his shoulder. 

“Are you boys done in here?” Queenie asks as she rounds the corner, and stops in her tracks. “You look awfully handsome, Credence,” She compliments and moves forward to brush his bangs back. 

Later, Credence sweeps his discarded hair up off the tiled floor and thinks about rebirth.

…

 

Queenie shows him to the guest room. She smoothes the pink comforter down and sits, patting next to her for him to join. Her pajamas match the sheets, a light rose that reminds Credence of the blush on her cheeks. When he sits she reaches a hand out to run through his short hair.

“I do like this,” she comments, blue eyes twinkling. Credence blushes and crosses his legs, resting his hands on his ankles. Queenie stares at him for a moment longer before prompting, “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“Not particularly,” he answers truthfully. 

“Well, tough,” she says offhandedly and points to where Credence’s phone is lying on the nightstand. “You haven’t called Newt yet.”

“I don’t want to worry him,” he lies. Queenie gets up and walks to the table, plucking Credence’s phone up and hitting the home button. 

“He’s called you three times,” she says, handing the phone over. “I’d consider that worried.” Credence doesn’t look, just sets it down in his lap and shakes his head. 

“I’m not ready,” he admits quietly. Queenie hums and climbs back into the bed. She pulls the covers over herself and looks at Credence expectantly. 

“Tell me then,” she offers and Credence pauses. He thinks back to the night he told Newt about Ma and shudders inwardly. He doesn’t want Queenie to react with the same pity; doesn’t need an important person in his life to think lowly of him. But Queenie’s eyes are so kind and her smile is so warm that Credence thinks perhaps she won’t judge. He decides it’s worth the gamble.

“My mother visited,” he starts. He tells Queenie the whole backstory: the belt and Modesty and Chastity and moving to New York. She looks pained when Credence describes the whipping but she doesn’t cry and she doesn’t interrupt. When he gets to the part in the story where Ma shows him the magazine, he falters. 

“We were so happy in the picture, Queenie,” he croaks. “Why couldn’t she see that?” 

“Sometimes people are blind,” she says sagely. Her hand travels over to clutch his fingers, squeezing. “They’re so blinded by hate that they can’t see love anymore.”

Credence continues his story. Queenie gasps when he tells her about Mary Lou’s slap and her fingers tighten almost to the point of pain on Credence’s hand. When he’s finally finished, Queenie is silent.

“She knows where I live now,” Credence says and feels a traitorous tear fall down his cheek. “And I’m so scared she’s going to come back,” His voice shakes. He thinks about her warning and the tears start falling in earnest. 

Queenie leans over to pull him into a hug and he finds himself lying with his head on her lap again as she drags fingers through his hair. His tears soak into the fabric on her knees and turn the pink dark. Even when he’s done crying, Queenie scratches his back lightly through his shirt and lets him stay curled up on her lap.

She clicks the light off as she leaves around two in the morning and closes the door to the guest bedroom slowly. Credence hears her pad off down the hallway with light feet. His phone lights up with a text, but he just turns it off and sets it back on the nightstand. He rolls over in bed and falls into a dreamless sleep.


	5. i'd tell you that i loved you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is dedicated to every angry person who messaged me about the last chapter! love u guys thanks 4 always believing in me!! your sadness fuels me!!!!
> 
> anyway. sorry about this one too, i guess.

London is lonely again. 

Newt has always been an introverted person, much more likely to spend his evenings tucked away in his bedroom than out on the town. He’s never felt quite cut out for big city life, with too small of a personality and too quiet of a demeanor. He used to spend his free nights holed up at home with his books and his sketchbook. 

The only time he used to find solace in public was when he walked through the zoo. Back when Mum was alive, he used his days off to visit her. She worked in the reptile room, taking care of hundreds of lizards and snakes. Sometimes when Newt dreams of her, she’s lit with the green light of the reptile house and she talks to him while holding a chameleon in strong hands. 

Newt grew up wanting to be just like his mother. He spent his days after school helping her clean exhibits and feed lizards. When she was too busy for him to help, he wandered the zoo. He observed lions and giraffes, sketching gorillas in the margins of his notebooks. The other zoo employees knew him and would sneak him into the back areas, letting him get up close with penguins. When the kids at school called him names, he ignored them and daydreamed about owning a zoo of his own one day. 

Instead, he met Albus Dumbledore who swept him up in a whirlwind of fame. Sometimes, Newt thinks deep down he might still be that little boy who day-dreamt of taking care of hurt creatures. 

With Credence gone, Newt goes back to his old ways. He goes to work, attends the few events he has to, and then goes home. He falls into a routine of avoiding social interaction, letting Theseus’ phone calls go unanswered. He doesn’t talk to anyone but Albus. He does call Credence every night and makes the man tell him about his day, but he never has much to offer in return. 

Newt never realized how boring his life was until it suddenly wasn’t anymore, and now he misses the adventures that having Credence around brought. He hungers for more and counts down the days until Credence can come home to him. It’s too far away.

He walks down to the zoo on a Saturday afternoon. He hasn’t been there since Mum died; it simply hurt too much. But now he thinks he’s ready to go back. He stands outside the wrought-iron fence and watches as people stream down the streets. Kids pull on their parents’ hands excitedly and Newt feels nostalgic. 

The reptile room is exactly how he remembered it, with big glass windows and rows of exhibits. He walks down the middle of the aisle, moving through the crowd of people with a practiced weave. He stands outside the iguana exhibit and watches the lizard move around its home for a long moment. He pictures the same lizard in Mum’s practiced hands, holding it out for Newt to take.

“Newt?” An attendant calls, and Newt steels himself for interaction with what is probably a fan. He spins and watches as a very tall, round man approaches him, squinting his eyes at Newt’s awkward smile. “My god, it is you!” 

“Pardon?” Newt has time to ask before he’s swept into a tight hug. 

“Little Newton Scamander!” the man says happily as he squeezes Newt. He lets go and takes a step back, frowning at Newt’s confused expression. “Oh dear, you probably don’t remember me at all! I was a friend of your mum’s,”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Newt says and holds his hand out to shake the man’s hand. 

“I haven’t seen you since you were ‘bout this high,” He holds his hand out at waist height and laughs a boisterous thing. His chuckle brings a memory to Newt’s head, of a strong man who used to lift him up to see into the crocodile enclosure better. 

“Mr. Hagrid?” Newt asks and the man claps his hands together delightedly. 

“You do remember!” His smile is infectious. “How are you, boy? How’s that actor big brother of yours?” 

“I’m good. Theseus is well too,” Newt answers. He looks around the room awkwardly and notices people starting to stare at them.

“I was real sad to hear about your mum,” Hagrid says suddenly and Newt swallows down his pain. 

“Me too,” he answers quietly. Hagrid claps him on the shoulder, his heavy hand weighing down on Newt’s spine. The contact is warm though and Newt doesn’t mind it.

“I can’t believe you’re here, in the flesh. Your mum used to talk about her son the famous model and I never thought I’d see the day he returned!” His voice is loud and booms through the small room. Newt doesn’t know how to respond. The zoo guests are gawking in earnest now and Hagrid notices. 

“I suppose I better let you be going,” the man says self-consciously as he looks at the people staring at them. He leans forward to hug Newt once more. 

“It was very nice to see you again, Mr. Hagrid,” Newt says politely and Hagrid laughs his loud laugh.

“Come visit any time! You’ll always have a home here,” Hagrid promises and then turns to walk through an employees only door. Newt can feel the eyes of the room on him and makes a hasty exit out the side door. The sun shines down on him and warms his skin. The air smells like hay and grass and animals, and Newt thinks about how his idea of home changed from the warm embrace of the zoo and into the smile of a boy from New York City. 

He walks home content and when he calls Credence that night, he tells him all about the reptile house and Rubeus Hagrid.

  
  


It’s been a week since Credence left when Jacob calls at two in the morning. Newt had forgotten to give Credence a call today, getting tied up at work and then being exhausted when finally arriving home. He thinks perhaps the ringing phone might be Credence checking in, but the caller ID reads Jacob. It’s nine in the evening in New York, and Newt feels a small touch of panic begin to bubble deep within. Jacob would never call when it was this late at night for Newt, so it must be an emergency.

“Hello?” Newt says, sitting up in bed. 

“We have Credence,” His friend starts and Newt’s heart drops. 

“What? Why?”

“He hasn’t called you yet?” Jacob responds and the panic in Newt’s chest starts to buzz.

“No,” Newt says hurriedly. “Jacob, what’s going on?”

“He called Queenie to come pick him up at his place,” Jacob explains. Newt can hear the sounds of traffic through the phone speakers. “He looks like he’s seen a ghost and he won’t tell us anything and god, Newt, the kid won’t stop cryin’.” His voice is hushed, almost as if he doesn’t want Credence to overhear.

“Oh my god, okay I’ll call Albus and see if he can cancel the rest of my week,” Newt rambles and he hears muffled voices in the background. He jumps out of bed and starts throwing on a pair of sweatpants. 

“Wait,” Jacob says. Newt pauses. “He says you don’t need to come.” Newt stops in slipping his shoes on.

“I’m coming,” Newt argues, standing to find his laptop so he can book a plane ticket.

“He says he’s fine, just a little shaken,” Jacob says and Newt feels like he’s been punched. It hits him that Credence called Queenie to help him before he called Newt. 

“Why doesn’t he want me there?” Newt hears himself ask. Jacob sighs.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “Look, we’ll take him home and then he’ll give you a call.” A surge of protectiveness flows through Newt. 

“Please take care of him,” he pleads, feeling helpless.

“You know I will,” Jacob promises. He hangs up with the excuse of needing to focus on driving.

Newt can’t go back to sleep. He sits in bed with his phone in hand, waiting for Credence to call him. His mind whirrs with the thousands of ways Credence could be hurting and he wishes he could book a flight across the sea and help him. Has Percival Graves returned home and sought Credence out? Has he found Credence’s small apartment and forced his way inside? The idea of the man laying his hands on Credence makes Newt burn with anger.

After a half hour passes, he dials Credence’s number. The phone rings and rings and then goes to voicemail. 

He calls twice more. Credence doesn’t answer.

He stays up all night and when the rising sun streams in through the curtains, he feels numb and lost. His phone stays silent, clutched in his hands. 

Finally, when the sun is fully risen and the city of London is awake, he sends Credence a text.

_ I love you _ , is all it says.

He doesn’t receive a response.

…

 

Newt is in the lobby of Albus Dumbledore’s office building when Credence finally calls him back.

“Credence,” he says quickly, “How are you? What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Credence says in lieu of a hello, voice small. The phone almost slips out of Newt’s fingers in surprise, but he holds on.

“Sorry for what?” Newt asks, darting his eyes around to find a place to sit down. He’s unsure if his legs are going to hold out. He stumbles slightly towards a couch and sits down hard. The receptionist is watching him worriedly.

“How could we ever have thought this would work?” Credence wonders, voice shaking. “I can’t be with you.” The words sound like they burn Credence to say, and Newt feels a similar heat boil up in his throat. His knuckles are white where he grips his phone, and he can feel his fist clenched against his side.

“I don’t— I don’t understand,” Newt sputters. “Credence, what happened? Jacob called me absolutely terrified the other night and then you didn’t answer any of my calls and Jacob says he doesn’t know anything and Queenie of course won’t tell me a word—”

“Please,” Credence cuts him off, “Please don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” Newt exclaims, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Please, just talk to me.” Everyone in the room is sneaking glances at him, at the famous man having a breakdown in Dumbledore’s lobby. 

“I have to go,” Credence says, and Newt feels himself slipping. The heat of the room’s eyes on him is suffocating and he doesn’t know how much longer he can last.

“Credence, I’m worried about you,” Newt cries and he hears Credence shudder in a breath. 

“I’m fine,” Credence lies, “I just need a little time off.”

“Let me help you. Whatever happened, we can work through it together,” Newt pleads and Credence doesn’t say anything for a long time. 

“I’ll see you around, Newt Scamander,” he finally whispers. Before Newt can respond, the line goes dead.

Everyone in the lobby averts their eyes when Newt stands, shoving his phone in his pocket and striding quickly through the front door. He makes his way towards his car with his head down, hands shaking at his side. 

When he climbs in the front seat, he spots a pack of cigarettes in the cup holder. Credence had forgotten them when he left for the airport, abandoned in his haste to make it to the gate on time. The package is crumbled and only contains a single smoke and a book of matches.

Newt smokes the cigarette on the ride home and imagines he can taste Credence in it.

 

Newt calls Jacob when he gets home. 

“Hey,” Jacob greets tiredly. His voice is small through the phone speaker and Newt settles down at his desk to talk. 

“Jacob, what happened? Really,” Newt begs his friend to give him any information, anything at all. Jacob sighs on the other end.

“He told Queenie all about it, but she’s been pretty tight-lipped. Says it’s Credence’s story to tell,” he explains. 

“I just want to make sure he’s okay, Jacob, and I can’t do that when no one will tell me anything,” Newt says. His tone toes the line of dangerous and Jacob doesn’t miss the heat. 

“Fine,” he sighs again.“I think Queenie mentioned something about his mother?” Newt can’t help the small gasp that he lets loose. Not Mr. Graves then, but something just as bad. 

“He’s not hurt, right? She didn’t hurt him?” Newt asks wildly. His heart speeds up in fear.

“No, no, not that I know of,” Jacob says quickly. Newt decides to tell Jacob the reason he called in the first place.

“Jacob, he called me today,” Newt tells him and Jacob falls silent as his sad tone. “He broke up with me.” Jacob doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“Give him some time. I’m sure he’ll come around,” he says carefully. Newt doesn’t appreciate the pity in his tone.

“I’m not so sure he will.” Newt pauses. “Please look after him. He’s… fragile sometimes,” 

“You know I would never let anything happen to him,” Jacob says back. 

“You’re a good friend, Jacob,” Newt remarks. He’s immensely thankful for having found such a loyal friend. Jacob simply hums in response.

He thanks Jacob for his help once again and vows to call him later. He hangs up the phone and lets his head fall into his hands.

He doesn’t eat dinner that night. He sits hunched over at his desk and sketches out a drawing of Credence’s eyes, dark against the white paper. His fingers shake when he picks it up, examining his own work. He sets the drawing on his shelf of picture frames, leaning it against one of him and Theseus. He stares at it for a long moment, wishing he had a real picture of Credence to display. 

Then, he remembers. The photo from Credence’s fridge is still in his wallet, the corners slightly bent and the fold lines leaving long creases against Credence’s smiling face. He smoothes it out carefully and then places it next to his drawing. 

He doesn’t sleep again that night. Instead he sits on his balcony and watches the stars.

 

...

 

Newt doesn’t mean to put himself into isolation, it just sort of ends up like that. He skips out on a few shoots and doesn’t go into Albus’ office for a few days, choosing instead to stay holed up in his apartment. He entertains the idea of going back to the zoo to walk around, but even the thought of seeing Hagrid again can’t seem to cheer him up.

Theseus shows up on day three. He doesn’t knock on Newt’s door and instead strolls right in, surprising Newt. He’s sitting on the couch wearing the same clothes from yesterday.

“Hey, brother,” he calls and Newt scrambles to stand. He tugs his sleeves down over his hands and fixes his dirty hair. Theseus stops in his tracks. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he takes off his coat, laying it over the back of a kitchen stool. He rolls his own sleeves up and comes to sit next to Newt on the couch. “Is Credence okay?” Newt huffs out an unhappy laugh. 

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully.

“You don’t know?” Theseus repeats, eyebrows furrowed. 

“He, uh, broke up with me, I guess,” Newt admits, eyes downcast.

“What? What happened?” Theseus is startled, leaning forward into Newt’s space. 

“I don’t know,” Newt responds. He keeps his eyes down, watching Theseus’ fist curl and uncurl against the fabric of his jeans. His brother’s fingernails are short and painted a pale blue. 

“What do you mean, you don’t know? I thought everything was going great?” Newt looks up to make eye contact with his brother and shrugs a shoulder.

“So did I, but I guess we were wrong. I suppose I moved too fast for him,” Newt says morosely, but Theseus shakes his head.

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” he says fervently. “What really happened, Newt?”

Newt lets out a sigh and slides his eyes away from his brother to stare at the wall. 

“Jacob called me late the other night. Apparently, something happened and Credence called them to come pick him up,” He falters, “He didn’t call me, though.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Theseus argues but Newt cuts him off.

“He told Jacob he didn’t want me to come to New York,” Newt says, a stray bit of desperation sneaking into his tone. “He doesn’t want to see me.”

“I’m sure that’s not what he meant,” Theseus responds. His green eyes are fierce when Newt looks at him. 

“When he finally called me two days ago, he told me he needs some time off. He doesn’t want to be with me anymore, and I don’t know how to fix things.” Newt holds back tears and Theseus leans forward to hug him. 

Newt has never really liked hugs from his brother. They were always too constricting, too rough. But he leans into this one, burying his face in his big brother’s neck. He twists his fingers in the fabric of Theseus’ shirt and is taken back to his childhood, clinging to his brother after being made fun of by the other boys at the playground. 

“Why did Credence call Jacob to come get him?” Theseus finally asks, holding Newt out at arm’s length.

“I think he ran into his mother.” Newt says. Theseus doesn’t look too surprised. “She used to hurt him and I think she threatened to do it again,”

“You’ve gotta protect him, then,” Theseus says. 

“It’s not that easy,” Newt argues but Theseus cuts him off.

“Sure it is! Book a plane ticket and go see him. Explain to him that nothing’s ever gonna hurt him when you’re around.” Theseus is fierce, voiced raised. 

“I can’t promise that,” Newt says quietly. Theseus grabs his neck and makes Newt turn to make eye contact. He looks wild, barely restrained. Newt has never felt closer to him.

“You can try,” he says, locking eyes with Newt. “But first, I think you need a drink.” He stands and moves towards Newt’s sparse liquor cabinet. When he returns from the kitchen, he holds a bottle out to Newt. He takes it and drinks a pull directly from it, leaning back. 

They spend the rest of the night sitting on Newt’s couch. Newt doesn’t sit close to his brother anymore; instead, he curls up against the leather couch’s arm and lets Theseus sprawl his legs out between them. They pass a bottle of scotch back and forth, taking sips that burn as they fall down Newt’s throat. 

The next morning, Newt wakes up on the couch with a blanket tucked around his shoulders. His neck aches and he has a headache. He goes to work anyway. 

Theseus texts him halfway through the day to remind Newt of their conversation. 

_ There’s a plane leaving for New York at 8pm tonight, _ his message reads. Newt glances at it and then pockets his phone. 

Despite his talk with Theseus, Newt isn’t fully convinced. He knows he can’t always be there to protect Credence and this entire situation has just shown that. Newt decides to give Credence the time Jacob suggested. He puts his head down, gets his work done, and very carefully does not think about New York City.

_ Time, _ he tells himself,  _ he just needs time. _

…

 

When Newt goes to Albus’ office early Monday morning, the receptionist hands him a monogramed note. There’s an actual wax seal keeping it shut and the paper is thick and heavy in his fingers.

“This was brought by for you,” she explains at Newt’s questioning look. He tears into it and scans the short sentences quickly.

_ Mr. Scamander, _

_ I would like to meet you for dinner some time this week. Please send your availabilities to my secretary and she will set something up. I’ve enclosed her email. I hope to be seeing you soon.  _

_ -Percival Graves, CEO Graves Industries _

Newt feels an uncharacteristic anger flow through his veins, threatening to boil over. He can’t believe Graves could be so cavalier, so confident in his ability to step into Credence’s life again without a fight. He almost tears the note in two.

But, he reasons, it also might be the only chance he’ll ever get to give Percival Graves a piece of his mind. He certainly doesn’t want to even sit in the same room as the man, but it would be worth it if he could convince him to stay away from Credence. Newt doesn’t care much for revenge, but he holds Credence’s protection far above his own comfort.

He takes out his phone and taps out a quick email to Graves’ secretary, relaying his free time. The response is almost immediate and contains time later that day and the name of a fancy restaurant. He saves it in his calendar and continues into Albus’ office. 

He is distracted for the rest of the day, thinking of all the things he wants to say to Mr. Graves. A faint bit of fear unfolds in his stomach but he tamps it down.

He arrives five minutes early to the meeting place, dressed in a sweater and slacks. The restaurant is incredibly nice and Newt feels slightly underdressed, but he hadn’t wanted to give Mr. Graves the illusion that he cared. He walks in and is immediately led to a table near the back room, secluded and dark. The waiter doesn’t say a word to him, leaving him at the empty table. 

A minute before they’ve agreed to meet, Graves enters. He has a large black trench coat on, unbuttoned all the way down and showing his gray three piece suit. His scarf hangs off his shoulders, providing no warmth. The waiter takes his coat and gloves. Graves runs a hand through his graying hair before he sits down across from Newt. His smiles is wolfish.

“Good evening, Mr. Scamander,” he greets, taking a sip of water. Newt watches him carefully, cataloguing every move. “I’m pleased you accepted my invitation.”

“What did you wish to discuss?” Newt says tightly. Graves raises a thick eyebrow at him and inclines his head.

“Directly to business then,” he says, “I can appreciate that.”

He leans back and unbuttons his suit jacket, taking it off and draping it over the back of his chair. His gray vest has a white trim that matches the color of his dress shirt and he has a black tie tucked into the front of it. He looks every bit like the business man he is.

“I simply want to know more about you, Mr. Scamander,” he lies with wide eyes, holding his hands up. The waiter interrupts, bringing back a wine bottle that he uncorks. He pours a glass of red wine for Mr. Graves but Newt declines. “I’ve done a fair bit of research, but it pales in comparison to the truth straight from the horse’s mouth.” 

“Research?” Newt asks, eyebrows furrowed. Graves grins at him, a scary thing. It tears across his mouth and reminds Newt of the wolves his mother used to care for at the zoo. 

“You’d be surprised what you can find out for providing a few favors to the right people,” Graves responds. He begins to rattle facts off from the top of his head. “Newt Scamander: educated at private boarding school Harrow School for Boys from age 13-18. Older brother is Theseus Scamander, better known as Theseus Gray. Father was a novelist back in the day, but mostly sits around at home finger-painting now. Mother was a zoologist,” He pauses. “A tragic accident, that one. Really breaks your heart,”

“Don’t,” Newt says dangerously. Graves raises a careful eyebrow and continues down his list.

“Discovered by Albus Dumbledore at age eighteen after being spotted working as a catalogue model,” he says and pauses again. “What did Albus Dumbledore see in you that he found so special? Because I, too, have met some special young men in my life and I’m interested in seeing more. Do you think Albus would share his ways with me?”

“That’s enough,” Newt warns, eyes closed and head tilted toward the table. He wrings his napkin between his fingers.

“We both know why we’re here,” Graves continues, changing the subject, “I try to check in on all my old friends.”

“Credence Barebone was not your friend,” Newt counters, finally looking up to glare at Graves. 

“You’re right,” Graves grins, “I do suppose you aren’t supposed to fuck your friends, but Credence was definitely an exception to the rule.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Newt says. He can feel himself losing ground. The war against Percival Graves feels impossible and endless.

“The rumors are true then, about the two of you?” Graves sits back in his chair, entirely too comfortable. Newt doesn’t consider telling him that he and Credence are no longer an item. “I think you two make a great pair.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Newt asks and Graves lets out a laugh. 

“A man who can barely look people in the eye and a boy who’s too afraid to say no? Not exactly the new celebrity power couple, but entertaining nonetheless.”

“You’re wrong about him,” Newt says softly and Graves leans in. “He said no to you.” Graves stops for a moment and then nods, mouth downturned. He considers for a moment and then whispers something dangerous.

“Have you ever heard of a woman named Mary Lou Barebone?” Graves’ sharp smile is back and it splinters at the edges. Newt looks at him in bewilderment, connecting the dots. “A  lovely woman, that Mary Lou. A little strict for my tastes but very interesting nonetheless,”

“What did you do?” Newt asks, voice trembling. He answers his own question before Mr. Graves can even speak. The puzzle pieces have all fallen together: Graves sent Mary Lou to  Credence’s apartment. 

“A mother should always know where her son is,” Mr. Graves taunts. There’s a whirlwind in Newt’s mind, buzzing with anger and fear and heartbreak all at once. 

Newt goes to angrily respond, but Graves holds a finger to his lips and beckons the server back with his other hand. 

“Please show my friend out,” he commands to the waiter. Newt stares, dumbfounded and furious, for a moment before gathering his jacket and brushing by the waiter. Just before he leaves, he turns to Mr. Graves. 

“Stay away from him,” he says dangerously. Graves doesn’t smile his sharp grin. Instead, he considers Newt seriously.

“And what will you do if I don’t?” he asks and Newt feels his fists tremble. 

“I can’t threaten you with much, Mr. Graves,” he admits, “But I can promise you I will do  everything in my power to protect him from you,” 

“I’m done with Credence Barebone,” Graves says nonchalantly. “And soon you will be  too.” Newt looks at him for a moment longer, trying to find any hint of untruth in Graves’  dark eyes and finds none. He turns and walks toward the restaurant exit. He stalks out to the street with his head down and his fists clenched, breath steaming in the cold air. 

The battle is over and Newt isn’t quite sure he won. Of course Mr. Graves seemed very sincere in his promise that he was done with Credence, but Newt wonders if he won’t one day grow bored and seek the boy out again. 

The meeting just reminds Newt of his inability to protect the person he loves.


	6. before i ever knew you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahaha remember when i said this was gonna be six chapters? turns out i lied... so there's gonna be a short epilogue posted tomorrow!! thanks for your continued patience.
> 
> hopefully this chapter makes up for the last two (:

The moment Credence hangs up on his phone call with Newt, he feels sick. Newt sounded so sad and confused on the other line and the pain he’s caused makes Credence want to throw up. But whenever he starts to regret his words, Ma’s face flashes across his mind. Her warning was a promise. Credence knows if he continues to stay around Newt Scamander, it’s only a matter of time until he ends up in the tabloids again and Mother comes back.

Credence isn’t afraid for his own well being; he’s afraid for Newt. He knows what Ma is capable of and he’d rather her strike him down than Newt. He’s afraid of what might happen if Newt comes to New York and Ma finds him again. He’s afraid Newt might go to Ma’s house himself and try to seek revenge, ending up just another person Ma’s abused.

He calls Newt and ends things. He dials the phone with his knees drawn to his chest while sitting in Queenie’s bathtub. The bathroom window is open and lets cold air seep into the room, making Credence’s toes curl into the porcelain. Newt begs him to reconsider and Credence almost chokes with the effort to keep his sobs silent. In the end, he hangs up on Newt Scamander and cries.

Credence has always been wicked, but this is the first time he’s hurt someone on purpose. It feels like it might tear him apart. He’s not sure he would mind if it did.

 

Credence sleeps at Queenie and Jacob’s house every night for a week. He tiptoes around, sneaking out in the morning to go to work and returning in the early afternoon. Queenie takes him back to his apartment to gather up his clothes and other necessities and watches the door the entire time they’re there. 

When Jacob isn’t taking pictures for the Aurora Agency, he stays home and bakes. Sometimes Credence will return home to find a plate of pastries sitting on the edge of his bed, finely decorated with white icing. He eats them carefully and sneaks down to wash the dishes once everyone has gone to sleep. 

It’s not often that all three of them are home for dinner at the same time, but when they are, Queenie makes Credence sit at the table and eat with her and her husband. Credence has never been part of a family that enjoyed eating dinner together. Ma, of course, made him and the girls eat together, but dinner was a solemn affair. Ma would rant on and on about sinners and the church and Credence would bow his head and try to ignore her hate. Queenie and Jacob tell each other about their days and seem genuinely interested in the things the other says. 

One day, Credence gets home to find Queenie and Jacob already there. Queenie is pinning a dress that’s draped over a mannequin while Jacob putters about in the kitchen. She looks up brightly as he walks in and sets down her work.

“Jacob, darling, I’m gonna go to my office and get a few things done,” Queenie calls to her husband, and Credence watches as she gathers up her laptop and a cup of tea. 

“I’ll come get you when dinner is ready,” Jacob responds, and Queenie smiles brightly at him. She reaches out and grabs Credence’s hand.

“I’d like you to sit with me,” she says, smiling at Credence, and he can’t say no to her shining blue eyes. He follows her into the smallest room of the apartment, a little area hidden off the kitchen that has a blue door.

The woman’s desk is tucked in the corner, surrounded by potted plants and picture frames. There’s an electric fireplace that casts orange light across the carpet, and bookshelves that cover an entire wall and make Credence ache with the want to run his fingers along every spine. He chooses one after a moment of deliberation, and sits down with it on the chair. Queenie sits at her desk, a pen tucked behind her ear and her laptop open. Credence opens his book and gets lost in its story.

“He feels pain, you know,” Queenie says suddenly, and Credence startles. He looks up at her, eyes wide.

“Pardon?” Credence asks, clapping his book shut. Queenie doesn’t look up from her laptop, tapping away at the keys with manicured fingers. She seems to wrap up a sentence and then pauses. When she looks up at Credence, her eyes are serious.

“You’re not the only one who can get hurt, Credence,” she tells him solemnly. She closes the lid of her laptop. “I know you’ve had a troubled past, but Newt’s never been in a serious relationship before, either.”

“He hasn’t?” Credence asks.

“When you’re as famous as Newt Scamander, no one ever wants to be serious. Everyone wants to take and give nothing in return.” Queenie admits, and stands from her desk. She joins Credence on the small love seat and takes his hands in hers. “That kind of selfishness eats away at a person,”

“Newt’s strong,” Credence argues, and Queenie shakes her head.

“I think Newt Scamander is one of the most delicate men I’ve ever met. And you’ve wounded him pretty bad,” she says softly.

Credence closes his eyes and wills himself not to cry in front of Queenie. Her thumb is rubbing small circles into his own, and the warmth only reminds him of what he can’t have. 

“I know I have. But it’s so hard, Queenie,” Credence forces out, and is embarrassed by the way his voice shakes. “I thought everything was going to be okay now. I thought things were going to be good for once.” 

“Nobody said it was gonna be easy,” Queenie agrees, “But true happiness is worth a little struggle.”

“But what about Ma?” Credence asks suddenly, thinking of his mother’s whip and sharp blue eyes. “She already found me once, what if she sees another photo of me and Newt and does something worse this time?” Queenie hums, looking thoughtful.

“I think you have a larger support system than you realize,” she says quietly. “You have me and Jacob and Tina right here in New York who are always ready to protect you,” she lists.

“What if that’s not enough?” Credence asks. Queenie taps her chin. 

“Well, good for you, I remembered some more. You have Albus Dumbledore and Theseus as well,” she says matter-of-factly. Credence thinks of Albus’ kind eyes and Theseus’ easy charm. He feels a pull of homesickness.

“London is a long way away,” he responds, shrugging his shoulder in a way that does not feel as nonchalant as he hoped it would.

“Not as far as you may think,” Queenie simply says. She narrows her blue eyes at him. “Look, I know you’re afraid Newt will go after your Ma, but I think he’d be a lot more happy if he just knew you were safe,” Credence is taken aback by the way she always seems to see right through him.

“How do you always know what I’m thinking?” Credence wonders, and Queenie is sad as she looks at him.

“People are easiest to read when they’re hurting. And you hurt a whole lot, Credence.” she says gently, and Credence feels the gaping hole in his chest grow wider. 

“What do I do?” he whispers. Queenie sighs, and Credence wants badly to close his eyes again. He doesn’t, and catches a glimpse of the dimple at the corner of Queenie’s mouth. He feels a tear spill down his cheek and Queenie wipes it away with her thumb.

“You apologize.”

“I can’t just call him,” Credence argues and she hums, considering. 

“I suppose I could talk Tina into flying you back across the sea for a little while,” she wonders aloud and Credence shakes his head rapidly.

“No, no, I’ve already been away for so long and I haven’t done many shoots for Tina in the past few days. I can’t ask her to let me leave again,” he stumbles, “I’ll figure something out,”

“Let us help you, Credence,” Queenie says sharply, but with no heat behind the words. She’s uncharacteristically serious. “We care so much about you. We just want you to be happy.” Her words are an echo of Newt.

“How do you know this is gonna make me happy?” Credence asks, “What if he doesn’t want me anymore?” His voice cracks as he voices his fear. He finds himself constantly wondering if Newt’s moved on yet; if he’s found some other rich socialite who can take care of him the way he deserves. Someone who doesn’t have panic attacks and who doesn’t go nonverbal at the slightest show of anxiety. Someone who doesn’t need a therapist and who isn’t too afraid of their own mother.

“Newt Scamander is crazy about you,” Queenie admonishes, slapping Credence’s knee. Credence is rocked out of his own fear by the tone of her voice, “Besides, you’ll never know if you don’t try.” 

It isn’t totally reassuring, but it sets something alight in Credence’s chest anyway. He feels himself beginning to unravel, hope setting his bones aflame. His mind flows in a thousand different directions and he takes a deep breath to center his thoughts and figure everything out.

He stares into the artificial orange light of the fireplace and feels himself nod slowly. 

“When’s the next flight to London?”

 

He lands in London around 8pm that night, jet lagged and haggard. His hair sticks up in a hundred different directions and his skin feels dry where it stretches across his knuckles. His mouth is full of cotton that doesn’t go away no matter how much water he drinks

Tina had called Albus Dumbledore despite Credence’s many protests, asking the man to arrange for Credence to get picked up at the airport. When Credence scans the crowd, he expects to see perhaps a driver of a private car with his name held up on a cardboard sign. Instead, he finds Dumbledore himself.

The man is wearing an audacious yellow vest with matching slacks, a white shirt tucked into his pants. He has a pale pink tie tucked into the front of his vest and his signature glasses are slid down far on his nose. 

“Hello, Credence,” he greets as the boy approaches slowly. He fights the urge to smooth his bangs down, instead holding tightly onto his carry on. 

“Sir, you didn’t have to—“ Dumbledore cuts him off in the middle of his panic. 

“I wanted to, my boy.” He begins walking towards the exit and Credence falls into step next to him. They weave through the crowd and Dumbledore leads him to where a shiny car is parked out front. “How are you?” Albus asks as Credence slides into the front seat of his car.

“Um,” Credence starts, “I’m fine, I guess.” Albus turns to look at him seriously. 

“It doesn’t do well to numb the pain; it will only hurt worse when you finally let yourself feel it,” he says softly, and Credence wonders again how everyone seems to know how he’s feeling before he does.

“Thank you,” he whispers, turning to look out the window. The sky is dark and shows no stars, but the lights of the city twinkle in their place. 

“I’ve been around for a long time, son,” Albus begins. “And never have I seen two men so incapable of communication as you and Newt Scamander.” His tone is light and Credence huffs out a laugh. 

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he argues but he knows deep down that Albus is right.

“Tell me about it,” Albus commands as they make their way through the city. Credence doesn’t know London well enough to know where they’re headed, but he has a few guesses. He takes a deep breath and tells the short version. When he’s finished, Dumbledore looks at him out of the corner of his eye and reaches over to touch his shoulder lightly. The gentle kindness makes Credence feel unworthy all over again.

“I’m bad, Albus,” he says, the words spilling off his tongue like confession. “I’ve done all these terrible things in my past that I can’t change and I can’t forget no matter how hard I try.” Dumbledore lets him finish rambling before he responds firmly.

“It doesn’t matter where you come from, Credence. If you know who you are, that’s all that matters.” His words are met with a moment of silence. 

“I’m not sure I do know who I am,” Credence says. 

“I think you know exactly,” Dumbledore shoots back. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come all the way here.” Credence considers his words for a long minute.

“I’m dangerous,” Credence whispers. 

“Newt Scamander has always loved dangerous things,” Albus responds, “I don’t see why you would be any different.”

Credence turns to look out the window again and sees that they’re on Newt’s block. Albus pulls up along the curb and parks. Credence tries to think of something to say, some way to express all his thanks to Albus for the advice and his kindness. Instead, he chooses to thank Albus for watching over Newt when he couldn’t.

“Thanks for taking care of him,” he finally says and Albus waves a hand. 

“It’s my job,” he says lightly and Credence is transported back to the day he met the old man. The memory is a good one. “Good luck, Credence,” Albus tells him and Credence looks out the window.

Outside the car, rain starts to drizzle, soaking the streets and reflecting the light from the street lamps onto the pavement. It runs in rivulets down the windows and patters against the roof of the car in a rhythm that soothes the panic in Credence’s head. He steels himself and then climbs out of Albus Dumbledore’s car. 

He stands in the rain for a moment to turn around and lift a hand in goodbye to Albus. The man inclines his head in return and then drives off. The rain slowly drips its way down Credence’s head, soaking into his jacket and making his hands slip on the handle of his bag. A slight chill runs up his spine that has little to do with the weather and more to do with the butterflies that flutter in his stomach. Credence turns around to enter Newt’s building.

 

Newt is home. Credence hadn’t expected any different, but he still feels trepidation when he spots the light that spills out from under the front door. He raises a hand to knock.

Newt answers after a moment. The door swings inwards and Credence looks up, from Newt’s bare feet to his wild hair. The other man is staring back at him in surprise. 

“Credence,” Newt breathes. He doesn’t move from the doorway, stuck standing in shock. 

“I owe you an apology,” Credence starts. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” Newt responds quickly, wide eyed. His fingers are white where they curl around the door.

“You deserve an apology, then,” Credence fights. Newt doesn’t say anything, just ushers Credence inside. They stand at the edge of the living room and Credence looks out the large windows to the familiar sight of London. 

“You cut your hair,” Newt says as he reaches out to brush a strand behind Credence’s ear.

“It was time for a change,” Credence responds. 

“I like it,” Newt compliments quietly. His hand doesn’t come down from Credence’s head; instead, he rests it along Credence’s cheek and holds his face. He brushes a thumb along Credence’s cheekbone and Credence finds himself closing his eyes and leaning into the contact, turning his head slightly to rest in Newt’s palm.

“You called Queenie before you called me,” Newt whispers and Credence’s heart drops.

“I did,” he agrees and doesn’t miss the pained look that shoots across Newt’s face.

“Why?” Newt asks. Things aren’t going how Credence had hoped, but they are going how he had feared. He decides to just tell the whole story.

“Ma visited me,” he says and Newt’s eyes don’t show surprise like Credence thought they would. Instead, they’re sad. 

“I know,” Newt says and Credence feels a dull bit of hurt strike him. He knew that Queenie was going to crack under the pressure of his secret at some point, but he didn’t expect her to tell Newt the full story. Before Credence can say anything, Newt continues. “Jacob didn’t know much, but he did know this had something to do with you mother.”

“Jacob?” Credence asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“He said Queenie didn’t tell him anything you two talked about,” Newt says quickly. Credence’s fear of Queenie spilling his secrets is tamped down. “I still don’t know what happened.” 

“She found me,” Credence tells simply, shrugging. “She saw a picture of you and I in some magazine and Mr. Graves told her where I live, so she just showed up.”

“She didn’t hurt you, did she?” Newt asks and Credence winces. 

“She slapped me,” he whispers, feeling a phantom pain against the side of his face. Newt looks dangerous. Credence knows the anger isn’t directed at him but he struggles to diffuse it anyway. “It’s fine, I’m fine,” he assures Newt, but the man doesn’t look any less upset. 

“I’m going to make sure you never see that woman again,” Newt promises and Credence looks up. He had thought Newt would want to seek revenge, find Mary Lou and make her pay. But Newt says nothing about vengeance. 

“You don’t want to find her?” he asks, because he has to make sure.

“Find her? Credence, I want to stay as far away from that woman as I can.” A weight settles off Credence’s shoulders at Newt’s serious words, floating into the air. He feels lighter already. 

“I can’t go back there,” Credence whispers. He hates that Mary Lou has made him this way; that’s she’s made him into some scared child. But the idea of going back to his tiny apartment in New York and having Mary Lou hunt him down again is terrifying. Newt clears his throat.

“Do you think, perhaps…” he trails off and Credence nods for him to continue. “Would you like to maybe… live here? With me?”

“But what about the Goldsteins?” Credence asks, before he lets himself get too hopeful.

“I know Tina has been meaning to collaborate fully with Albus. I’m sure she’d be thrilled for you to be Aurora’s first international ambassador,” Newt says and Credence wonders just what he did to deserve such a wonderful man. He feels himself nod slightly, then faster. He moves forward and wraps his arms around Newt.

“Of course,” he says. He can feel Newt exhale a relieved breath. Guilt creeps its way back in Credence’s lungs. “I’m so sorry,” he says against Newt’s chest. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” Newt says and Credence shakes his head.

“It’s not okay,” he argues and Newt looks at him with sad eyes. Credence hates that he’s put that look on his boyfriend’s face. “I promise you that I will never let Mary Lou get the best of me again. I’ll never push you away again.”

“We’re a team,” Newt says back. His hand works its way down to find Credence’s and he laces their fingers together. “I missed you,” he admits, leaning in. He closes his eyes and Credence takes the time to study his face. He looks the same as he did when Credence left, his face covered in freckles and the skin around his eyes wrinkled slightly. 

“I missed you too,” Credence says and leans forward to kiss him. Newt’s lips are a familiar warmth and the homesickness that has been weighing Credence down since leaving finally abates. 

They make their way through the living room to sit down on the couch. Newt’s hands slide up Credence’s sides and into the front of his shirt, touching every part of him he can. His wandering fingers are almost frantic and Credence hates that he filled Newt with so much fear.

Credence settles down onto Newt’s lap, spreading his legs and bracketing Newt’s body with his knees. He pulls his own shirt off and leans forward to start unbuttoning Newt’s. The buttons slide annoyingly in his fingers and he has half a mind just to tear at them, but instead he concentrates and gets them undone without ripping the shirt wide open. Credence leans forward to nip a line down his chest and smiles when Newt lets out a broken sound. His abs flex beneath Credence’s fingers, and his hips raise forward slightly to rub against Credence’s own.

When Credence looks down, Newt is hard. His erection is a thick line against his leg, and his dress pants strain tightly against his thighs. His legs are spread wide, knees bent, and Credence slides down from the couch to kneel on the floor. He winds a hand up Newt’s thigh, digging in slightly and relishing in the quiet breath the man sucks in, his long fingers clenching into the leather couch. 

Credence leans upwards to kiss Newt, and slides his hand forward to press on Newt’s cock. The man moans loudly, pressing back with his hips, and Credence smiles.

“Can I finger you?” he asks into Newt’s mouth, prying at the button on the front of his pants. Newt nods shakily, and Credence falls back onto his knees again, resting on his heels. They work together to pull Newt’s pants off, and when Newt is finally wearing just his briefs, Credence holds out a finger.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, and gets up off the floor to go find some lubricant in the bedroom. He roots around in Newt’s bedside table for a while before finally finding a bottle. He grabs a condom too, just in case.

When Credence returns, Newt hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch, but somehow he looks even more flustered than he did before. His hair is wild, curls sticking up haphazardly and his temples slick with a sheen of sweat. His chest rises and falls rapidly. His legs are spread wide, and Credence kneels down between them once more, a wicked sort of smile on his face. He pulls off Newt’s underwear and takes him in hand, stroking upwards slowly. Newt’s head falls back against the couch, his long neck on display, and he lets out a quiet noise.

Credence strokes him with no particular rhythm as he coats his fingers in lubricant, and slides them back to press one inside slowly. Newt’s breath rushes out of him, and Credence revels in the sound. His finger is encompassed by heat, and the drag makes Newt’s thighs shake. By the time Credence has worked three fingers into Newt, the man is a wreck. His lower lip is red and flushed from where he’s bitten it and his fingers scramble for purchase on the couch cushions. 

“Please,” Newt pleads and Credence wants to give him everything in the world. His knees ache where they rest on the floor and he pulls his fingers out of Newt to undo his belt and slide his pants off. He hisses as his cock rubs against his briefs, and he uses his free hand to lay Newt back against the couch. Credence climbs over top of him and guides Newt’s legs to rest over his shoulders.

Newt leans forward to kiss Credence, panting hot breath against his lips. Credence thrusts upwards and moans as his cock slides deeper, rocking into the tight heat. Newt’s stomach is slick when he slides a hand down to get a hold of his cock. He curls a hand around it and strokes in time to the rhythm of his thrusting.

“Oh, oh God,” Newt gasps, pinching his eyes shut and biting his lip again. Credence kisses along his neck and sucks hard in one spot, leaving a darkening hickey when he leans back. Newt squirms beneath him, hands digging into the back of the couch and his thighs tensing. When Newt moans his name, Credence seizes up and his thrusts become erratic. 

“So good,” Credence groans and Newt whimpers. He thrusts harder, faster, and then leans forward to kiss Newt once again. He can feel his orgasm fast approaching, and he speeds up his hand on Newt’s cock and rides through it. He pants into Newt’s mouth as he comes, a silent scream in his throat. He strokes Newt faster and the man shudders apart with a few gasping breaths, eyes half lidded and mouth open. 

Credence slides out and uses his shirt to wipe up the mess on his stomach, then discards the condom. He slides back to lay on the couch and pulls Newt down onto his chest. The man nuzzles against his neck and finds Credence’s hand, interlocking their fingers. Credence rests a hand against the back of Newt’s head and they lie on the couch, staring at the lights outside.

“I love you,” Newt whispers. 

“I love you, too,” Credence says softly back. Newt settles further into his chest and they lay silent for a few more moments. 

“I lied earlier,” Newt admits into Credence’s skin. Credence feels his heart skip a beat in shock. Before Credence can panic further, Newt continues, “Jacob isn’t the only one who told me your mother visited,” 

“No one else knew,” Credence starts and is cut off by Newt’s rushed confession.

“I had a meeting with Percival Graves the other day,” he says. Credence furrows his eyebrows and thinks for a moment. 

“I thought you said you didn’t like revenge,” he responds quietly, anxiety bubbling up in his stomach. 

“It wasn’t for revenge,” Newt responds. “It was to protect you,” Credence thinks of Mr. Graves’ powers of manipulation and wonders if Newt was as susceptible to them as used to be himself.

“Promise me you won’t ever meet with that man again,” he begs, the hand in Newt’s hair scratching lightly against the man’s scalp. 

“I promise,” Newt says seriously. Credence hums and takes a deep breath. Newt’s weight on his chest makes pulling air into his lungs slightly difficult but it’s grounding and Credence wouldn’t change it for the world. 

“What did he say?” Credence wonders aloud, his curiosity getting the better of him. He knows Percival Graves can be extremely persuasive and he wants to correct any lies the man may have told Newt.

“He said he’s the one who sent Mary Lou to your apartment,” Newt sighs. 

“I know,” Credence murmurs. He closes his eyes, head pressed back against the arm of the couch. When he looks down, Newt is staring at the far wall.

“He also said he’ll leave you alone,” Newt whispers back and raises his head to look

Credence in the eye. His honey gaze is hard. “He’s never going to touch you again,” he promises.

Credence lays his head back against the couch cushion and stares at the high ceiling. The idea of forgetting about Percival Graves, of never having to worry about him again, makes his chest ache. It’s a pleasant pain. 

After a long time, Newt slides off of Credence and gathers up his own clothes. Credence watches Newt silently gather his clothes as well, holding them against his chest in a wrinkled ball. 

“Smoke?” Credence asks, still reclined. The idea of a cigarette is incredibly appealing.

“Shower first,” Newt says and Credence groans slightly. He moves off the couch and they walk the stairs together. As they walk into the bathroom, a hysterical giggle falls from Newt’s lips.

“What?” Credence asks as he twists the tap on the shower to start pouring hot water. 

“I just,” he laughs a little again, “I’m definitely going to get a bathtub installed now,” he explains as they step inside the shower. Credence laughs along with him. 

They shower for far too long, Credence taking the time to run his hands all along Newt’s body with no rush. Newt washes Credence’s newly-shorn hair, brushing his fingers against his ears and neck reverently. When the water starts to run cold, Newt turns it off and they wrap themselves up in fluffy towels. They dry off and pull on comfy clothes, shivering in the chill of Newt’s bathroom. 

“Smoke now?” Credence asks and Newt smiles at him again. “They’re in my coat pocket,” Newt ushers him into his bedroom and directs him towards the balcony before running downstairs to grab Credence’s coat. Credence makes his way through his bedroom but stops when he comes across Newt’s shelf full of picture frames. There’s been a new addition since Credence was last here.

Next to a photo of Theseus and Newt sits a drawing of Credence’s eyes. It looks like Newt sketched them hastily, darkening his irises with black pen and using bold strokes to map out his eyebrows. The sketch is next to the photo from Credence’s first shoot with Queenie. Credence reaches a finger out to trace lightly across the fold lines and bent corners. He hears Newt trudging up the steps. He doesn’t move. 

“I love that picture,” Newt says as he comes into the room and sees Credence staring. “I can’t wait to add more,” Credence’s blood is warm when it pumps through his veins. 

He finally feels like he belongs, here in Newt Scamander’s bedroom, a picture of him on the wall and Newt’s clothes on his body. He moves towards the balcony and opens the french doors. London is beautiful. It bustles, wind blowing through the buildings and cars honking at one another. In the distance, Credence can see the bright lights of Tower Bridge. 

Newt pulls a smoke out of the pack and strikes a match with practiced fingers. He holds the cigarette between his lips, cupping a hand up to block the wind as he lights it. He takes a quick pull and then holds it out to Credence. Their fingers brush as he hands it over.

“Forever?” Newt asks, looking out over the city. Credence doesn’t hesitate to respond.

“Forever.”


	7. because i loved the simple thought of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well guys, this is the end. thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me! all of your lovely words have really warmed my heart and i'm glad this affected so many of you, even if it wasn't always happily. basically, i love you all and you make me so glad to be part of this fandom!!!
> 
> here's an epilogue of sorts. these boys deserve a happy ending.

Credence’s apartment is untouched. There’s a fine layer of dust that coats everything and drifts lazily through the air, visible in the sunlight that streaks through the window.  The sheets on his mattress are rumpled and there are dishes piled in the sink. There’s a torn magazine on the ground.

He hasn’t been back since Ma was here. Queenie returned once to fetch clothes for him and things essential for traveling to London, but Credence hasn’t stepped foot in the lonely apartment since that rainy day. He’s stayed far away until now.

He feels Ma’s presence as Newt unlocks the door and steps inside. She’s buried herself deep in the floorboards and Credence can feel her hate thrum through the walls. She’s everywhere now, in the torn paper on the ground and the paint that peels from the bathroom door. Her memory is suffocating.

Newt walks forward confidently and scoops up the torn magazine, throwing it into the trash without blinking. Then Newt takes off his coat and lays it over the back of the couch. He rolls up his sleeves and pushes his hair out of his eyes. His face is unreadable and Credence doesn’t try to decipher the hard set line of his mouth. Instead of talking, they get to work.

Tina and Queenie arrive not long after he and Newt get started packing, bringing with them coffee and muffins from Jacob. Jacob himself shows up a little later, apologizing for his tardiness, and Credence is in awe again of the kind friends he’s made.

They work together to sort through his few belongings, cleaning up the dust as they go. Queenie and Jacob take the bathroom, packing up Credence’s soaps and the scattered hair ties that litter the edge of the sink and the tiled floor. They take down the shower curtain and Credence’s bathtub looks small in the empty room.

Newt gets a start on his personal belongings, folding up his bedspread and digging around in his drawers to find his phone charger. He packs up the shoebox that houses all of Credence’s important papers: copies of bank statements and contracts that Credence needs to find time to sort through. 

Newt is the one to find the necklace that Credence had hidden away so carefully in his bedside table. The man holds it out to Credence with trembling fingers.

“I know he gave this to you,” Newt says, trying to keep his voice down so the others don’t hear it. Credence nods and looks down at Newt’s offering. He can feel the heaviness of the black chain around his throat, constricting in its weight. Newt drops it in his palm and he imagines a burning where it sits on his skin, cutting into his palm and scarring. The triangle with a line and circle inside. A symbol of possession; of loyalty to a man who makes Credence’s skin crawl and his stomach sink. He curls a fist around the chain and turns, walking away from Newt and towards the kitchen.

He drops the necklace into the trash can. It clangs against something as it falls into the basket, a metallic sound that echoes. Credence feels its weight disappear from his neck almost immediately. When he turns, Newt is smiling sadly at him. Credence gets back to work and his shoulders feel looser and his heart a little less heavy. 

Most of Credence’s belongings are going to be donated: cardboard boxes full of pots and pans and furniture that he won’t need once he’s living with Newt. He gives bagfuls of his clothes to Queenie to recycle and make into new fashion. Jacob takes his kitchen table and chairs, promising that one day when he opens his bakery he’ll use them for extra seating. Tina offers to take his yellow armchair, arguing that it would go much better in her office than it would at Newt’s modern apartment in London. 

Some of the furniture came with the apartment, so Credence doesn’t have to bother finding a home for his faded blue couch or his mattress. The coffee table stays as well, with its stained top and wobbly legs.

He keeps his books. He packs them with care, making sure not to crease any corners. He sets them aside to be shipped to Newt’s apartment, where they’ll join Newt’s own collection.

He also wraps up his coffee cups with newspaper and sticks them in a box as well.  He and Tina work together to clean out his fridge and cupboards, throwing away expired food. Tina comes across an unopened bag of sugar in his cupboard and furrows her eyebrows at it, but Credence just takes it silently and packs it away into one of the Keep boxes. She doesn’t ask questions. 

When they’ve finally cleared out the kitchen, Tina sits down hard on one of Credence’s kitchen chairs and steals a cigarette out of the pack on the table. She lights it and beckons for him to sit down. He looks over and sees Newt and Queenie joking as they pack up his clothes. He decides it’s okay to take a quick break. 

“I spoke with Albus this morning,” she starts, smoke curling out of the side of her mouth. Credence settles down into the chair across from her and looks out the window. She holds the cigarette out to Credence and he takes a quick drag before handing it back. “He said he’s delighted to sign you.”

“Tina, I’m so sorry to leave Aurora,” Credence quickly apologizes, but Tina waves a hand at him.

“You’re moving on to bigger and better things,” she explains, “I’ve been left by plenty of models and I was proud of every single one of them.”

“Still, you’ve done so much for me and I plan to repay you in every way I can,” he argues. When he spares a glance over to where Queenie and Newt are packing, he can see Queenie sneaking glances at them. Her eyebrows are furrowed.

“You can repay me by being happy,” Tina says simply in return, flicking ash into an empty cup on his table. He watches the embers fade away from red to gray, cooling. She holds the smoke out to him again.

“I’m very thankful to have met you,” Credence murmurs softly and Tina regards him carefully. He looks at her short hair and gray jacket and thinks back to the first night they met. He never expected this woman to change his life the way she has. They make eye contact for a long moment and Credence finally breaks it to check that Queenie isn’t still watching them. The blonde woman is bent with her head near Newt’s as they look over an old sweater of his. Newt is smiling slightly as his fingers dig into the soft fabric and Credence feels at ease for the first time the entire afternoon

“You know, Albus said he thought you were going to be the one to steal Newt away from him,” Tina wonders aloud after a long moment. “Instead, you’re leaving me to go live across the sea.” 

“If I had the choice—“ Credence hurries to say, but Tina cuts him off with a steady look.

“You don’t have a choice,” she says. Credence falls silent and Tina takes another drag off the cigarette. She doesn’t smoke like Newt does: inhaling as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Tina smokes with purpose, head tipped forward and fingers careful around the cigarette. Credence has no doubt that he, too, could have maybe fallen a little bit in love with her.

Tina lets him finish the cigarette and he stubs it out into the bottom of the paper cup, brushing his fingers against the ash and letting it leave behind a gray smudge on his fingernails. Tina gets up from the chair and moves to grab a box and help Jacob move Credence’s dishes and things into his car. Credence sits for a moment longer, watching Newt and Queenie giggle to each other, before he stands and finishes the job. 

Tina and Queenie and Jacob leave when it starts to get dark, taking a car full of stuff with them. Credence offers to go with and help them unpack it at the local Goodwill, but they refuse. 

“We’ll give you a little alone time,” Queenie says, a box on her hip. She has a faint sheen of sweat that glistens on her forehead and the tops of her pink cheeks. “I’ll see you back at our house for dinner tonight,” she says and Credence nods as he closes the door behind her. 

Credence sits down heavily on his blue couch and opens up a battered notebook. Newt slides a pen across the coffee table for him and he sighs as he picks it up. He starts a letter to Modesty. After a second of thought, he adds Chastity’s name to the greeting as well. 

He tells them where he’s been. He tells them about Newt and the whirlwind he’s found himself in, giving only a few details about visiting London. He leaves out the part about Ma visiting and instead explains to them that he’s leaving the country. He talks about sin and forgiveness. He tells them about how much he loves Newt and the pen wobbles in his grip when he writes for them to realize that love is so much stronger than hate can ever be. 

He writes Tina’s office phone number and building address at the bottom of the page, telling them to contact Tina if they ever need to get a hold of him. He wishes he could tell them Newt’s address to send him letters in return, but it’s too dangerous. Credence worries that Ma would really fly all the way across the sea to find him again.

He signs the letter with shaking fingers and as soon as he folds it up, Newt takes the pages and slips them into his coat pocket. Then he sinks down onto the couch next to Credence and runs his fingers along his spine, rubbing his back soothingly. Credence feels the tears that run slowly down his cheeks and he makes no move to brush them away. 

“We best get going,” Newt whispers after a long time, hand slowing on Credence’s spine. Credence nods and wipes at his tears with the back of his hand. He turns towards Newt and the man moves towards him slowly, capturing his lips in a kiss that makes Credence’s wet eyelashes brush against Newt’s cheek. He kisses Newt for the last time in his apartment and memories of Newt falling asleep on his couch and making coffee in his kitchen and sitting at his table with a cigarette held lazily in one hand swim through his mind. When Credence pulls away, Newt’s cheek is wet and his lips are red. 

They stand from the couch and Credence goes to flick off the bathroom light, running his hand over the splintered door one last time. He pulls on his coat and slides his backpack onto his back. Newt slings a messenger bag over his shoulder and they move towards the front door. Newt steps outside and Credence slides his hand along the wall to turn off the lights. 

With one final look at the bare walls, Credence closes the door to apartment 403 behind him. He reaches over to link his fingers with Newt and they walk away from his past with their hands held tightly together. They leave behind an empty bathtub and a room full of bad memories. They go to Queenie’s apartment for dinner and they go to the post office to drop off Credence’s letter and they go to JFK to board a plane.

Then they go home.

**Author's Note:**

> chapter and work titles are all from the song "new york" by snow patrol. it's crewt AF. 
> 
> come visit me on tumblr @cryingbilldenbrough and we can yell about these boys together!!! also, i always love receiving prompts so feel free to send away!!


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